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THE DARK CORNER 


THE 


DARK CORNER 



THE GRAFTON PRESS 


PUBLISHERS 


NEW YORK 



'<\ 


LIBRARY of CONGRESS 
Two Copies Received 

DEC f 1908 

•“copy Q. 


Copyright, 1908, 

By THE GRAFTON PRESS 


Among my friends are a few men, of talent, strengtu 
energy, and culture; possessed, though, of all the hu 
man appetites and passions of other men — fond of 
riches, with all the ease, independence, luxury, position, 
and power that riches give; love the plaudits of men 
and the smiles of women; covet honor such as the 
world bestows^ upon its heroes of war, politics, art, lit- 
erature, or productive industry, — yet' who, impelled, 
by some spirit within them, which I must believe is not 
merely the voice of Ood but God himself, deliberately 
and cheerfully renounce both the cravings of their 
carnal natures and the lofty yearnings of their spirit- 
ual beings to pursue lives of toil, poverty, and ob- 
scurity, that they may brighten the minds, ennoble the 
souls, and increase the opportunities, of other meny 
children. To these as a humble tribute to their heroic 
souls, this book is dedicated. 

ZACH McOHEE. 


Washington, D. G., 
October 1, 1908. 


THE DARK CORNER 


0 


THE DARK CORNER 


CHAPTER I 

At dusk one evening, in the front room of an old- 
time country home, with big white pillars in front, set 
hack in a grove of red oak trees, surrounded by woods 
and fields and red hills, a ten-year-old boy sat writing 
at a desk. It was not a desk either, come to think of 
it; in the Thompson family it went by the name of 
*^the secretary.^’ It was of mahogany, one of these old 
tall combination arrangements, half book-case, half 
writing desk, and half — for the secretary was not like 
ordinary things, confined to two halves — a cabinet of 
great, heavy drawers. And broken knobs were on some 
of the drawers, some of the knobs now inside the 
drawers, where they had been for generations. One of 
the drawers was locked, had been locked for genera- 
tions, and the key lost, so that to “get” into it the 
drawer just above had to be taken out. Inside of this 
drawer, besides the broken knobs, were some old dingy 
yellow books, bound in leather, some odd papers, bun- 
dles of letters with quaint-looking stamps on them, 
some carpet tacks, odd stockings, bits of “fiddle raw- 
zum,” a few tintype pictures of grandmother when she 
wa!s a little girl, or of Uncle Joe and Aunt Ethel when 
they went to town one day to the county fair; also a 
box of old pills, two or three disintegrated door locks, 
some strings tangled with picture wire, old buttons, 
nails, tooth brushes, and a few other things. YouVe 
seen them. No one wanted any of these things; yet 
nobody thought of throwing them away, or would have 
dared do so if he had. 


1 


2 


THE DAKK CORNER 

No, there was no secret drawer or blind receptacle in 
the secretary, containing hidden treasure or a lost 
mortgage or a purloined will, which affect the course of 
family history. There was no great mystery about it; 
at least none to be revealed in this story. It may have 
had its mysteries; it doubtless did, for it had been in 
its same place in the front room there before even Aunt 
Tildy could remember. Aunt Tildy had lived in the 
little log cabin in the back yard ever since she was a 
little girl ; now her hair was snowy white, and she could 
not walk without a cane. Yes, traditions clustered 
about the secretory, but the only real mystery which 
could not be easily solved was what was on top of it; 
for even standing upon the highest table in the room 
or upon the window ledge next to it, no one in this 
generation had ever been able to see over the quaintly 
carved and broken edge of the “top piece.” Great- 
grandmother’s portrait, with a hundred cracks across 
the face, hung just to the left and above. As if with 
her dim, cracked eyes she were watching there day 
and night, she alone seemed to know for certain what 
was up there. 

Here sat the ten-year- old boy in a big arm chair. 
With his feet resting on the round of the chair, his 
knees pushed up against the underside of the straight 
mahogany writing-board of the secretary, and his little 
chest, shoulders, and head bent far over above, he 
looked not unlike a great clamp clasping the edge of 
the writing-board. As he sat thus, a little dark-com- 
plexioned girl, a few years younger than he, with rosy 
cheeks, silken brown hair hanging in ringlets down 
upon her plump little shoulders, came and looked up 
into his face with a pair of big blue eyes and pleaded 
with him to come out into the yard and play. 

“You said you was cornin’ wight after supper,” she 
said. “Now you sit’n down here witin’ in that old book 
again.” 

He looked up at her and smiled, twisted one of the 
curls around his pen staff, revealing a red scar on 
the side of her left temple, and thought with a little 
feeling of regret of the time when he had accidentally 
burned her there with a hot poker, and of his mother’s 


THE DABK COENEH S 

saying the scar would be there always. He played 
fiirther with the curl by putting his lips to it and 
catching some of the hair between his teeth. Then, 
after first glancing over his shoulder to see if the man 
in the far corner of the room had his newspaper be- 
tween himself and them, he reached over and was 
about to press his lips to hers, but she ran away. She 
stopped, though, in the doorway, and shaking the curls 
at him, said, ‘‘ain’t you cornin’ ?” 

“All right,” he said. “Wait a little while longer. 
I’ll be there directly.” 

She went back crestfallen. He went on writing with 
his big pen in his big book, dipping frequently into a 
big bottle of faded brown ink before him, pausing 
now and then, his inky forefinger pressed against the 
side of his big little nose, his big gray eyes fixed stead- 
ily upon the shelves in front, while his little brows 
were knit in what he thought was thought. 

During one of these pauses let us peep upon his page 
and see what he has written : 

“I have about come to the decision that this thing 
you call common sense is mighty scarce among 
women, they talk & talk about things what they don’t 
know nothing about, and the worst thing about them 
is nobody can’t tell them nothing about them. But 
Uncle Joe says boys will be boys and I reckin women 
will be women.” 

Then after the pause — ^he puts stars where he pauses, 
— is this: 

“And they ain’t no difference between women they 
are all alike even to little girls.” 

Here are some more stars, probably representing the 
interruption made by the little girl with brown curls, 
for just underneath them is this : 

“But there is one little girl which ain’t, that is, 
she is different now but there is no telling when they 
grow up. I won’t write what her name is cause I want 
to wait and see.” 

This was Jim Thompsor^. “James Carlton Thomp* 
son” it was in the big B.ibI? on the center-table in the 
parlor, but everywhere elsq it was “Jim.” Even on the 
torn and dirty fiy-leaf of ”^he book in which he wrote, 


4 THE DARK CORNER . 

amidst some much older writing — ^his father’s name 
and sundry memoranda — ^now scratched out, was writ- 
ten in a large, uneven, unformed hand, this sign: 

‘^Jim Thompson 

Strickly Private 

The man what reads in this book ain’t a gen- 
tleman except the arthur.” 

It must have been that some female member of the 
household, coming across the book in some of her dust- 
ing expeditions, had considered that the injimction did 
not apply to her, for a little lower down on the page, 
some scratched out name between, the “arthur” had 
made a short addendum reading, “and no lady neither.” 

It was still early in the evening. The little girl with 
the brown curls came again, and this time looked at 
him with what she meant for reproach. 

“I fought you was cornin’ to play. Mrs. Thompson 
says we can’t play but a little while longer. Then we 
have to wash our feet and go to bed. And you haven’t 
played with us at all to-night. Please come on, Jim. 
I go’n to wait wight here on this twimk till you shut 
up that old book and come on.” 

Jim hastily threw down his i)en and shoved the book 
into the back of the secretary, and the next minute, to 
the delight of all the children, particularly the little 
girl, whom they called “Amy,” he was in the yard 
playing “I sp 3 r” with them. 

Annie, Jim’s sister, two years older than he, was 
counting. After calling “All hid I” several times and 
getting no answer to her last call, she began stealing 
around among the shadows of the trees and the out- 
houses. 

“I spy Joe behind the weU.” But Joe, running very 
fast, got “home” before Annie. Joe was a little seven- 
year-old pickaninny. There was another negro boy, 
twelve years old, a fat, bow-legged boy of a “ginger- 
bread brown,” whom the children all called “Ole 
Simon.” As Annie was looking the other way Ole 
Simon slipped out from imder the piazza steps and, 
running as fast as his fat duck legs would carry him, 


THE DAKK CORNER 6 

he slapped the tree, wliich was “home,” before Annie 
saw him. 

All were accounted for except Amy and Jim. Annie 
peeped under the steps, then around the big tree just 
beyond the well-house, behind the hen-house, under the 
edge of the kitchen piazza; but she could find them 
nowhere. Venturing further from home, she was full 
thirty feet beyond the well, when, hearing a scamper- 
ing behind her, she turned to find Jim letting Amy 
down from the shelf just under the eaves of the well- 
house. 

“Run, Amy, run,” cried Jim. “That’s fine I 
Whoopee! That’s fine!” 

“Home fee!” cried Amy in ecstasy. 

But in his enthusiasm for Amy, Jim had forgotten to 
run himself. Annie espied him and touched the tree 
for him, so that he was “It.” Amy was disappointed, 
for now she had to hide for herself. When Jim put 
his face up to the tree and began to count, she looked 
about for a place to hide, finally slipping into a wooden 
box on the piazza. Soon afterwards, as she loosed her 
skirt from a nail on the edge of the box, the negro 
boy. Ole Simon, with a broad grin on his face hopped 
into the box with her. 

“Now you git out o’ here,” she said. 

Instinctively she shrank from him, and her eyes 
flashed in such a way that even if the negro boy could 
not see them there in the dark, he felt their effect. 
But he only grinned and said, “I ain’ gwi do it.” 

“Git out, I tell you, you black nigger. This is my 
place. I was in here first.” 

Jim would have heard her this time, but he was sing- 
ing out at the top of his voice: “Five- ten-fifteen- 
twenty,” and so on. Simon made an ugly face at her 
and sat down in the box with a sullen look. 

“All hid?” cried Jim. 

“Make Ole Simon git out o’ here. He ain’t got no 
business in here. I was in here first.” 

Amy stood up in the box, while Simon crawled 
slowly out, making another face at her, and saying 
something to her which Jim could not hear. She be- 
gan to cry. 


6 THE DAEK COKNER 

^‘What’s the matter, Amy?” asked Jim, climbing up 
upon the piazza and lifting her out of the box. She 
drew her sleeve across her face. 

“Ole Simon,” she began, but broke out into violent 
sobbing. Jim turned to the negro boy, who usually was 
£? great favorite with all the children, except Amy, and 
said hotly : 

“What did you say to her, Simon ?” 

“Oh, nothin’. Come on, Amy, I’ll give you de box. 
I never meant nothin’.” 

“What did you say to her?” demanded Jim. 

“Oh, nothin’, I tell yer. She knows I wuz jes fun- 
nin’.” 

Here Amy, in the midst of her sobs and with her 
flushed little face covered with her sleeve, sobbed out: 

“He — ^made — faces — at — me.” 

“I never,” declared Simon stubbornly. 

“What did he say to you?” asked Jim, looking 
angrily towards Simon. 

“I never said nothin’ to her,” said Simon, going sul- 
lenly toward the well. Jim’s eyes followed him till he 
saw him sit down on the edge of the well platform. 
Then Jim turned again to Amy, and tenderly putting 
his arm around her waist, tried to soothe her. 

“Don’t cry, Amy. He sha’n’t play with us any more.” 

“He called me—” 

She stopped again and sobbed. 

“Go on, Amy, I’ll fix him. You tell me what he 
called you.” 

Then reassured, and soothed by Jim’s tender em- 
brace, she finished her sentence, though she still sobbed 
between each word. 

“He — called — me — ^poor — white — trash.” 

Jim rushed toward Simon, who stood up and pro- 
tested with a show of indignation, “I never done no 
sich er thing.” 

But protestations or denials were not in order. Jim 
dealt him a blow square in the nose, and the broad, 
flat organ emitted blood while it assisted another organ 
just below to emit a loud bawl. But Ole Simon had a 
little game in him as well as blood and bawl. He was 
larger than Jim and stronger, though Jim was lither 


THE BAEK CORNER 1 

of body and more active, so that when Simon grabbed 
at him and they clinched, Jim tripped him and he fell, 
pulling Jim on top of him. Then tliey rolled over, 
kicking and scratching and tearing at each other, im- 
til Jim caught Simon around the neck with his left 
arm and began to pound vigorously with his right fist. 
But in a moment Jim himself yelled as he felt the 
negro’s teeth pinching him in the left side. This 
little bit of strategy added considerably to the fury of 
the fray. Jim loosed his hold around Simon’s neck, 
and, wrenching himself away, concluded that he, too, 
would introduce a new instrument of warfare, and 
proceeded to make a vigorous and most effective attack 
upon the enemy’s left flank with his right foot. This 
brought a wild yell from Simon, who grabbed a brick- 
bat which lay near him, and slowly rose to his feet. 
J im stood coolly watching him and looking him in the 
eye, daring him. 

^‘What’s this ? What’s this ?” 

The boys looked up and saw the fiery eyes of Mrs. 
Thompson on the porch. Annie and Amy had run in 
fright into the house and told her. 

“We wuz jes playin’,” said Simon, breathing very 
rapidly and looking frightened. 

“No, we weren’t just playing,” spoke up Jim, also 
breathing rapidly, but looking more angrily at the ne- 
gro. “He called Amy ‘Poor white trash,’ and 1 mashed 
his nose for him.” 

“Naw you never nuther, an’ ef you did I bit you till 
you hollered.” 

Jim glared at him and moved toward him. Things 
looked threatening again, but Mrs. Thompson ordered 
Jim to go into the house, and gave Simon to under- 
stand that she and his mother would attend to his 
case on the morrow. 

“I’m ashamed of you that you cannot play without 
getting into a fight with negroes,” said Mrs. Thompson 
to Jim when they had got inside. 

“Well, Mamma,” he replied, “you turned off Betsey 
’cause she called Amy ‘white trash,’ and I ain’t goin’ 
to let any nigger call her that, or treat her mean. 
Amy’s as good as any girl in the world.” 


8 


THE DAKK COENER 

His little face flushed deeply, and his gray eyes, for 
the first, time, became moist. His mother looked at him 
calmly for an instant, then stooped down and kissed 
him on the brow. He looked towards the little girl 
standing in the door, who just then turned and stepped 
back into the hall so he could not see her, for she was 
crying again; and this time she did not know why. 

The next morning, as the autumn sun streamed 
through the tinted trees of the lawn, a man wearing a 
white hat, in a white-top wagon, with a white, bony 
horse, drove up to the front gate. The man, the wagon, 
the horse, the hat seemed much the worse for wear, 
much worn from a weary journey. It was Saturday 
morning, and Jim was sitting on the steps waiting for 
Amy, whom he had promised to take to gather nuts 
in the woods across the way. The man was a tall, thin 
man, very pale, slightly stooped, and he coughed vio- 
lently several times as he slowly walked up to the steps 
and asked for Mrs. Thompson. That was the begin- 
ning of a day that Jim never forgot, and pages and 
pages about it are written in the big book which he 
kept in the secretary. 

It was a quiet day. There was no noise, nor the pall 
of death, nor the excitement that usually attends do- 
m^tic turnings. Few realized the meaning of that 
day. Jim did not till upward .through the years of his 
life it crept steadily and fatefully over him. It was 
the beginning of one of those quiet tragedies in life 
which extend through many, many years, and the cul- 
mination of which is attended with no demonstration 
save in heaven alone. 

Jim had no conception of this, not even the vaguest 
suggestion of it. Yet in his little breast there was a 
strange feeling he was deeply conscious of. That after- 
noon he stood leaning against a tree with his fore- 
finger pressed against the side of his nose and watched 
the white-top wagon with the white horse pass slowly 
down the hill beneath the spreading branches of the 
great oak trees which shaded the road. He saw the 
man get out at the end of the lawn, open the big green 
gate upon which he and Amy had used to swing, then 


THE DARK CORNER 9 

get back into the wagon; and wagon and horse, and 
father and daughter moved on. Little Amy had gone. 

Jim went into the house and began writing in his 
book, but the pen was scratchy, the ink was too pale, 
and his fingers had the cramp. He got his hat, took a 
book from the shelf, the first one his hand touched, and 
walked down to the spring. He drank some water out 
of the cracked gourd that hung on a forked stick be- 
side the spring, then sat down on the grass, leaned up 
against the great poplai* tree which shaded the spring, 
and opened his book. He read about three pages, but 
for some reason he could not get interested in the 
book. It was Spencer’s Synthetic Philosophy. So he 
walked up the hill and out into the woods. Wandering 
a long time amongst the big trees, Spencer’s Synthetic 
Philosophy under his arm, he decided to make some 
visible record of the thoughts and feelings within him, 
some living testimonial to future generations, calling 
these big trees and the squirrels and pecker-woods and 
jay birds to witness. He sat down a long time and 
considered. At length he tore out one of the fly-leaves 
of the Synthetic Philosophy and wrote on it with a 
blunt pencil he took from his breeches pocket : 

“I solemnly declare in the presence of this vast forest 
that I, James Carlton Thompson, age 10, do love Amy 
Cannon so help me God.” 

With this inscription on it, the fly-leaf of the Syn- 
thetic Philosophy was carefully folded up. After ner- 
vously looking around in every direction to be sure 
there was nothing else in the presence save the vast 
forest, he concealed it in a hole in a large hickory tree. 
Then he walked around and around in the “vast forest” 
before going out, so as to confuse the minds of any 
chance observers. The testimonial was for future gen- 
erations, not this one. 

But that night in the big ledger was described the 
exact position of the sacred tree, which would now go 
down into history, alongside the Charter Oak, the 
Washington Elm, and the Appomattox Apple Tree; 
though in order that no other of the household should 


10 THE DAKK CORNER 

discover his secret, the big ledger was taken out of 
the secretary and kept in the bottom of his trunk un- 
derneath his clothes for the next three weeks. 


CHAPTER II 

“Professor Tilson is coming. Pa,” said little Alice 
King to her father one evening just after supper. This 
announcement caused something of a commotion in 
the family. Mr. King was reading the paper and Mrs. 
King was giving some directions to the cook. 

“Run and light the lamp in the parlor,” said that 
lady to Alice. “Go to the door, Erank. Come here 
first, let me straighten your collar — there ! Button your 
coat — now — that’s right. Now, Son, see how nice you 
can bow when you mee^ him. Ask him into the parlor 
and say ^Excuse me. Professor, and allow me to go 
and tell Father’ — Wait ! say it over before you go. What 
are you going to say?” 

“Excuse me. Mister, and let ” 

“Excuse me. Professor/^ corrected his mother. 

“Excuse me. Professor,” repeated the apt pupil in the 
polite art, “and let me go and tell Paw.” 

“Go and tell Father” again corrected the careful 
mother. 

“Go tell Father,” repeated the hoy. This was not 
exactly correct and the mother showed a slight disap- 
pointment, but she said, “All right, that will do, I sup- 
pose. Be sure you say it that way, now, when you get 
out there. Run ahead. He’s about to ring the bell. 
Wait!” — She whispered now — “Don’t be too quick. 
Let him ring the bell first. Now.” 

The mother, father, and sister then took their posi- 
tions behind the door and peeped through the crack 
upon the scene between the two heroes, their distin- 
guished visitor and the promising young exponent of 
the King family. 

Now, come with me. Ladies and Gentlemen, just a 
little way apart, and I will introduce you to Professor 


THE DAEK CORNER 11 

Jefferson Marquinius Tilson. To be perfectly frank, 
though, it puzzles me to know where you have been all 
the time that you do not know him. I much fear me, 
you argpe yourselves unknown, but let us not parley; 
we are in the presence of greatness. He stands at the 
door waiting. He has on a blue Prince Albert coat, a 
vest cut low in front so that two large diamond studs 
can be seen on the bosom of his white shirt. They 
may be paste, but that matters not; they sparkle. 
Rather tall is he, though it is only on occasions that he 
assumes his full height. Who is he? Why, the pro- 
fessor of the school at Hollisville — no, not that either; 
if you had read the circulars or the advertising sec- 
tions of the county and church papers, or if you had 
kept up with what is going on in the world, with 
who^s who in America, and who’s ‘Tt,” you would know 
that he is the President of the H. C. M. I. 

H. C. M. I! 

It is not possible you do not know what those illus- 
trious characters stand for ? when there are 7 professors, 
139 students, and 14 counties represented, each student 
wearing on the visor of his cap these letters wrought 
in gold ? Do you live so remote from civilization as not 
to be reached by mail that you have not received circu- 
lars and “commencement” invitations, each bearing 
two full-page pictures of the celebrated Jefferson Mar- 
quinius Tilson, one dressed as we have seen him, and 
the other in full military uniform with gold cords and 
tassels? But, perchance, you do not live in any of 
these 14 counties. You live, peradventure, in western 
Pennsylvania, and have in mind the famous Pushtown 
Institute. You have had time only for the pe- 
rusal of the literature of that renowned institution, 
where there are students from 19 counties. Or do you 
live in Kansas, where your time has been absorbed with 
the literature of the far-famed Blowburg Military 
Academy ? Then, after all, you must have some infor- 
mation about the distinguished gentleman who has now 
stepped inside the hall with little Frank King. But I 
have introduced you. Get acquainted with him your- 
self. You may watch him, if you like, with the three 
members of the King family, through the crack of the 


12 THE DARK CORNER 

door. You need not fear that you will not be able 
to get a good idea of him by merely looking at Him; 
for as Ed Oldham, who lives in Hollisville and who 
came to know the great man passing well, was wont to 
remark, ^^The biggest part of him is on the outside.” 

The Professor walks in, hears with becoming and 
impressive dignity Frank’s neat speech, hangs his hat — 
his silk hat — on the rack, places his cane, his gold- 
headed cane, in the rack, and takes a peep into the 
glass. Frank turns and goes to tell Paw — I stand cor- 
rected; I mean “Father” — but just at this moment the 
Professor notices something interesting in the looks of 
the dining-room door, and an idea occurs to him. Ideas 
frequently occur to the Professor. He lays a patron- 
izing, benevolent hand upon the promising head of 
Frank, and observes, in a tone somewhat louder than 
absolutely necessary for the tender ears of the awe- 
stricken youth below him: 

“Why, Frank, my boy, you deport yourself like a 
little man. You will be a man, too, after a while, and 
I hope when you are, you will be a great man.” 

The Professor took pains just here that his pupil, 
and those other pupils close to the crack of the dining- 
room door, should have an opportunity of seeing a good 
example of a great man. Accordingly, he straightened 
himself up, buttoned the lowest button of his Prince 
Albert coat, and struck an attitude. 

“Your father is a gi’eat man, too, Frank.” 

With this, the great man meant by the little word 
“too” walked impressively into the parlor. Frank was 
smothered with congratulatory kisses wlien he reached 
the dining-room. 

In a few minutes. Captain King came into the parlor 
and the two great men entered first into a conversa- 
tion on the weather. After they had agreed that it 
was a pleasant night and both had expressed an opinion 
as to whether or not it would rain and whether or not 
if it were to rain it would help or hurt the crops, Tilson 
took from his pocket a letter which he handed Captain 
King to read. This letter was from Miss Hall, Tilson’s 
“confidential secretary,” and read as foUows: 


THE BARK CORNER 13 

^^Mr. Thompson came to see me to-night, and I know 
you are anxious to hear at once about him. He is 
rather tall and well proportioned. He looks young, and 
a good many, besides himself, think he is handsome. I 
judge by his conversation that he is much older than 
he looks, for he is very serious-minded and dignified. 
He has deep gray eyes, which at times are very pene- 
trating, and he appears to look right through you when 
you talk to him. He has a very amiable expression in 
the mouth. I think there is more real expression in 
the mouth than in any other feature. He goes clean- 
shaven, and has a very interesting face. 

^‘He talks a good deal. You asked me to notice es- 
I)ecially if he talks slowly, saying that no man of brains 
drawls out what lie has to say. Well, he does not ex- 
actly drawl, but he does speak very deliberately at 
times. At other times, though, he seems to talk very 
rapidly, as if he were in a desperate hurry. This is 
when he seems to be talking through you as well as 
looking through you. 

^^He is very bright, I think, but I am afraid he knows 
it. He is a little bit conceited, some say; but I would 
not say so, exactly. I do fear, though, that he is some- 
what impractical. Some of his ideas about school work 
are very theoretical. This may be because he has been 
teaching in the graded schools here. You remember 
you said the graded schools in all such towns as Glen- 
dale were very impractical. Still he may be all right 
when he gets into our ways. 

^‘He is a pleasant man socially, and has an agreeable 
though a somewhat awkward address. I think he is 
a great reader and likes to talk about books. I believe 
he likes to be thought learned. 

‘T have made careful inquiries about him from the 
people I know who know anything about him, and they 
all say he is an excellent young man, although I have 
heard one or two of the boys say he is somewhat of a 
crank. I asked him what was the least salary he would 
take, and he said he had not thought about that at all, 
but he finally said he would expect about $60 a month.” 


14 THE HAKK COKNEH 

Captain King, when he had read this letter, ran his 
eye carefully over it again. He turned it over, upside 
down, and sideways, inspecting the margins all around. 
He was looking for something which he could not un- 
derstand the writer’s leaving out. He took up the en- 
velope, felt inside of it, then opened it and looked in- 
side. He glanced over the letter again, turned it over 
and upside down again. Finally, looking wi^ a puz- 
zled expression at Tilson, he stroked his beard, 
scratched his nose, and opened his mouth. 

“Is he a Bab-tis?” 

He did not say “Baptist,” but “Bab-tis.” 

“Well, I teU you,” began Tilson in an apologetic 
tone, drawing up his chair so as to get squarely in front 
of the chairman in a more confidential position, as if 
they had reached the real business of the evening. 
“You see, I have been thinking we ought to have one 
Methodist in the school, because we can then get the 
Methodists to send to us.” 

Captain King gravely stroked his beard. 

“I don’t like to see them get a foothold.” 

“Do you think one out of seven will make much 
difterence?” replied Tilson, adding very quickly, “Of 
course, now, you know best; but you see, our school is 
bound to be Baptist. At the same time, 1 don’t want to 
miss getting students from Methodist families.” 

Captain King continued stroking his beard, and 
slowly nodded. 

“He’s a good man,” urged Tilson. “He graduated 
with honors and has a good reputation. It would sound 
mighty well to have his name on our circulars. The 
only thing is the pay. What do you think we ought to 
pay him should we decide to take him?” 

“I don’t know,” answered Captain King. “How 
much had you thought of offering him?” 

“Oh,” said Tilson, “I haven’t thought of that, know- 
ing that you know so much better than I do about these 
matters.” 

Captain King was the richest man in HoUisville, and 
the foremost citizen. Yet, he was very modest in the 
presence of real greatness. He drove to church on 
Sundays in a carriage, paid liberally to support the 


THE DARK CORKER 15 

church, lived in a comfortable house, and always sent 
liis children to school. Hence he had all the attributes 
of the leading citizen of the community, for there were 
no others that did all of these things. Hence he was 
the best qualified man in the community to be chair- 
man of the Board of Trustees of the Hollisville Col- 
legiate Military Institute — Professor Jefferson Mar- 
quinius Tilson President. Yet none of these attributes, 
nor all of them, are in any way inconsistent with Cap- 
tain King^s being a man easily twisted around the little 
finger of Mr. Jefferson Marquinius Tilson; for in the 
first place, Mr. J. Marquinius T. must be accounted 
an expert in the finger-twisting business; in the second 
place, it happened that the most prominent and most 
highly respected man in Hollisville was, outside of the 
immediate and narrow sphere of trade, one of the 
weakest of mortal men. It was some five or six years 
before this that Captain King bought his gold brick, 
for $5,000, it being worth in the neighborhood of five 
cents, as gold. But there is no use to tell that story 
on the Captain here; he knows better now; that is, 
when it comes to material gold bricks; he is just as 
gullible as ever when it comes to human gold bricks. 
Tilson did not really care a fig, or two figs, for the Cap- 
tain^s advice; he wanted the Captain’s influence and 
as much of his money as a gentleman possessed of much 
wealth and the ordinary human vanities could be per- 
suaded to part with. Nothing flatters a man, especially 
a great man, more than to be asked advice by another 
great man. Tilson had a board of trustees mainly 
that he might flatter them, and get their influence in 
return, being always sure to let them know what advice 
he wanted; and he always got it. He made each one 
feel the most important man in town, a feat easy of 
accomplishment, especially with Captain King, who 
drove two horses to his carriage when other people 
drove but one. Before the interview closed, the Cap- 
tain was arguing that it would be the very best thing 
for the school to employ this young man Thompson, 
for several reasons, though particularly because he was 
a Methodist. Tilson was a little uncertain on this 
point, but if the Captain thought it best, why, of 


16 THE DAEK CORNER 

course, he would yield. He was, in the end, also willing 
to yield to the Captain’s most excellent judgment *33 
to the salary. In parting the Captain said to him : 

‘^Yes, Professor, I believe if I were you I would write 
to him at once and make him the offer at $500 a year 
and board” — ^which is exactly what Tilson had already 
done the day before. 


CHAPTER III 

^^What a pity old man Adam had such an amiable 
disposition !” 

As there was no reply save in a puzzled look in the 
face of his companion, he knit his brows and went on : 

“If the old man had had less of an eye for hair and 
eyes and lips, a shapely figure, and other feminine de- 
ceptions and superficialities, and more consideration 
for what went into his stomach, as sensible men of all 
ages have had, he would not have got us all into this 
trouble by eating from that miserable dish of fruit his 
v/ife set before him, which has caused the world to 
suffer from a horrible indigestion ever since, and you 
and I even to this day to eat bread by the sweat of our 
faces.” 

To the continued bewilderment of the young lady, 
who from the seriousness of his manner and the ridicu- 
lousness of his speech did not know whether to sympa- 
thize or to laugh, he got up from his seat on the steps 
of the porch and began pacing back and forth in front 
of her in an earnest and agitated manner, his face 
drawn, his fists clenched, and his bosom heaving, as if 
he had an idea of immediately seeking personal redress 
of Adam. 

This young man of twenty-two is introduced as Mr. 
Thompson; the next time you see him you call him 
Thompson; ever after that it is Jim. Yet he kept a 
journal; he was a combination fellow. On the fly-leaf 
of the journal was written “James Carlton Thompson, 
Commonly Known as Jim.” This pleasant September 
evening he was doing something unusual with him; he 
was talking with a pretty young woman of twenty, and 


THE DARK CORNER 17 

out under the moon. Since we saw him doubled up at 
the big secretary he had grown into a tall, well-figured 
young man. His handsome head, covered with rich 
auburn hair, was well set upon a pair of broad, square 
shoulders. The glow of youth was in his cheeks, the joy 
of life and hope in his every lineament and movement. 
Yet he had the student’s stamp; a plainly marked fur- 
row cut deep between his light eyebrows, and still a 
certain dreaminess in his glistening gray eyes, a dream- 
iness, though, which often gave way to a mischievous 
twinkle. He was talking in a vein of blended serious- 
ness and jest quite characteristic of him, but which 
Aileen Hall had not yet learned to* understand. 

This Aileen Hall interested him. She interested him 
far more than most young women had interested him 
before, and he was taking more pains to interest her 
than he had been accustomed to take with the young 
women it had been his lot to meet in this world. And 
he found himself compelled to keep up a continuous 
fight within himself to maintain his firm belief that it 
was not the brightness of her clear blue eyes, nor the 
rich gold of her hair, nor the beautiful curves of her 
delicately tinted cheeks which made her interesting to 
him and impelled him to seek to interest her. Jim 
was accustomed to protest that he was not a “ladies’ 
man.” He despised the term. “I like to converse with 
a sensible person,” his journal said, “be he man, woman, 
old maid, grandfather, or little boy. But why should a 
pretty girl interest me just because she is pretty any 
more than should a pretty horse, for the same reason ?” 
This was written during his college days, it is true, 
but that period in the student’s life when he makes 
himself believe that he delights only in what he calls 
“intellectuality” in a woman, just as he would delight 
equally in intellectuality in a man, had lasted longer 
with him than with most young men. And only a few 
weeks before this night, after his first interview, a 
business interview, you may recall, with this same 
young woman, he had taken out the book which was 
still “strictly private” and bantered thus with him- 
self ; 

“What is woman that I should be mindful of her? 


18 THE DAKK COENER 

If she have brains, let her come forth and I will hold 
discourse with her, yea and find delight in her — ^pos- 
sibly. But if she have only bright eyes and rosy lips 
and golden hair, and bloom on the cheeks, and deli- 
cately formed ankles, and things of that ilk — what are 
these that man, made in the image^of his Maker, should 
be mindful of, and waste his time withal, and his sub- 
stance, and his sleep 

None the less, significant or not, scarcely an hour 
had passed since that first interview that he had not 
been mindful of her; and to-night, as his first day at 
Hollis ville was drawing to a close, he could not repel 
the consciousness that in her he had discovered the 
one bright redeeming feature of the nine months’ other- 
wise gloomy prospect which lay before him. He jus- 
tified his inability to resist this feeling by saying to 
himself that she was the “only approach to a re^ly cul- 
tivated person” he had found or hoped to find in the 
whole place. 

Jim had arrived that morning. Hollisville lay lin- 
gering and sweltering in the sand and in the sun. The 
“business portion” of the town consisted of some half 
dozen stores facing the railroad, all one-story wooden 
buildings set up off the ground. The keepers were 
standing in the doors, some alone, some surrounded 
by one or more village loafers, all busily engaged in the 
useful occupation of watching the train, and staring 
curiously at this tall, youthful-looking man with a 
bicycle. Sitting under a large water-oak tree in front 
of one of the stores, were two men in shirt sleeves 
chewing tobacco and playing checkers. Several men 
were standing or sitting on boxes near by watching 
the game and expressing their opinions as to the moves. 
Out in the sandy street were several wagons and bug- 
gies. Some lazy-looking horses and mules were hitched 
to the limbs of trees and to a hitch-rack made of a 
many-pronged cedar log across the top of two posts. 
Swarms of gnats and flies i)erformed the office of keep- 
ing these animals from going to sleep. A dozen or 
more lazy-looking negroes, of all ages and shades of 
color, were sitting around on the station platform, 
talking and whittling, or just sitting still and silently 


THE DARK CORNER 19 

watching the train with as much wonder as if they 
had not thus watched it ever since they were big 
enough to walk or crawl out where they could see it, 
and as if to watch the train were not their chief func- 
tion and calling in life. Lounging around among the 
negroes, licking them or licking themselves and snap- 
ping at flies, were some several dozen dogs — ^‘yaller 
dawgs,” an average of about one and a half “yaller 
dawgs” to every negro. 

This was Jim’s first introduction to Hollisville. No 
wonder he was delighted to find one bright spot. 

Followed by half a dozen negro boys, each with his 
tongue hanging out and his eyes stretched, he rolled his 
bicycle to where the men were playing checkers, and in- 
quired the way to Mr. Tilson’s. 

‘‘What! You mean Perfessor Tilson’s?” asked three 
or four in the group. While one of the men stepped 
out into the street to point the way, the others exam- 
ined the bicycle, which was a novelty in Hollisville. 

“Have you come to school?” 

Jim was chagrined at this question. He had tried 
so hard to look dignified and important, and here he 
was taken for a schoolboy. But he smothered his feel- 
ings and smoothed his face. 

“Well, yes; I guess you can call it that,” he replied, 
forcing a smile. 

“That’s the new Professor,” remarked some on© after 
he had gone. 

“What! That ar kid a Perfessor?” exclaimed one of 
the checker players, whose name was Ed Oldham. He 
stared after the bicycle and added, “Well, if he comes 
along here ridin’ that kind o’ baby carriage, the boys 
sho’ll do him up. Anyhow, though, he looks like he 
got mo’ sense than that ar Tilson. Hit’s yo’ move. 
Bill.” 

And the game proceeded. The crowd would have 
been horrified at the disrespectful remark about such 
a great man as Professor Tilson, but it was understood 
that Ed had always entertained a special aversion to 
the H. C. M. I. and its distinguished President, so they 
passed it by, esjyecially since Bill just then made a move 


20 THE DARK CORNER 

on the checker board which seemed to put Ed’s forces 
into a pretty bad predicament. 

Jim was met at the door by a middle-aged lady in a 
large white apron and a pair of large rings in her ears. 
This was Mrs. Alston, the Professor’s sister, who was 
called the “Matron.” 

“Come in,” she said, when Jim had told her who he 
was, “you are the new Professor, ain’t you ? The Pro- 
fessor said you would come to-day. The Professor is 
not here right now, but there’s Professor Walter, the 
Professor’s brother. We call the Professor Professor, 
and Professor Walter, we call him Professor Walter, 
and that’s the way we tell them apart. I mean when 
we talk about them, you know. When they are both 
here we can tell them apart easy enough. They do not 
look anything at all alike. Aileen, that’s Miss Hall, 
you know. She came yesterday. She’s a teacher, too, 
but then the Professor has made her his secretary. He 
has done a good deal for her, but Lor’! he’s always 
doing things for people. Have you seen the Profes- 
sor? He is very busy, as the Institute will open 
promptly Monday morning. That is, of course, if it 
doesn’t rain. I don’t think it will rain, do you? Have 
a seat. It’s a pleasant day.” 

All this she said in one breath, and before Jim was 
well inside the door. “Professor Walter” was sitting 
on a lounge in one corner of the room, discoursing to 
his own great delectation upon a guitar. While mak- 
ing disagreeable sounds on the guitar, he was also mak- 
ing disagreeable smells from a cigarette upon which 
he was drawing ravenously. 

In the middle of a sentence — she was always in the 
middle of a sentence; her sentences had only middles, 
they had no ends — Mrs. Alston suddenly stopped and 
told Walter he was not playing that tune right. She 
hummed it for him — it was “Little Annie Rooney” — 
but as he did not seem to catch it, she went to the 
piano and played it over for him. Presently a servant 
called her, and she left the room, still in the middle of 
a sentence. 

Professor Walter had not left the lounge or in any 
way noticed the newcomer; but now, as the burden of 


THE DARK CORNER 21 

entertainment was thrown upon him, he stopped his 
guitar and took out a package of cigarettes, holding 
out the box toward Jim. Jim declined. Professor Wal- 
ter asked for a match and lit one. 

‘T smoke too many m.yself,” he observed as he threw 
the match out of the window, and picked up the guitar. 

‘‘Do you play on the guitar. Professor?” 

No, Jim did not play on the guitar. With a spirit 
of the most heartless cruelty. Professor Walter pro- 
ceeded to mortify him by playing “The Spanish Fan- 
dango” in his most artistic manner. When he had 
played about a minute and a half a string popped. 
The performer gritted his teeth, in which act he unwit- 
tingly bit off the end of his cigarette, causing him to 
spit violently out of the window near by, using some 
words under his breath which Jim did not hear. Then 
he disentangled the broken string and proceeded to tie 
a knot in it. 

“Don’t you play on any instrument. Professor?” 

“No, I’m sorry to say, I do not,” answered Jim. 

“Well,” observed Professor Walter, winding up his 
guitar string, “if you stay in this town, you will have 
to learn to play on some instrument. Everybody here 
plays on one or more.” 

Jim felt sorry he could not play, but made no re- 
ply* 

“I play on four,” said Professor Walter. Then he 
took a long draw from his cigarette, inhaled the great 
volume of smoke, held it a while, and let it escape in 
streams through his nose, his mouth, and, apparently, 
his eyes, ears, hair, and the pores of his skin, very much 
after the fashion of a charcoal kiln. After this, he laid 
the cigarette down, hoisted his right foot to his left 
knee, pulled up both of his sleeves, and struck up “The 
Carnival of Venice.” 

When he finished this tune, which he managed to 
do without stopping more than four times to tune his 
guitar, he set the instrument upon his knee and looked 
at his audience, waiting for some expression of admi- 
ration. Jim had to make some remark. 

“What four instruments do you play. Professor ?” he 
ventured. 


22 THE DAKK COKNER 

Professor Walter counted on his lingers as he enu- 
merated : 

^‘Guitar, autoharp, piano, and harmonica.” 

Then leaving his audience in that state of wonder 
and awe the presence of so remarkable and versatile a 
musical genius must necessarily inspire, he tuned his 
guitar again and entered with his whole soul into a 
spirited interpretation of “A Hot Time in the Old 
Town To-night.” 

But alas! Jim’s enjoyment of this, and Walter’s 
chief enjoyment, which was the impression he was 
making on Jim, were destined to be interfered with, 
although the tune itself was not interrupted, by the 
entrance of no less a personage than the President of 
the H. C. M. I. himself. Professor Jefferson Marquin- 
ius Tilson. Just behind him was Miss Hall. Tilson 
shook hands and smiled most benignantly; and Aileen 
beamed such a welcome that the bad impressions made 
upon him by his surroundings were for the moment 
dispelled. 

And they stayed dispelled, too, for the rest of the 
day. Tilson soon after greeting Jim left him in 
Aileen’s charge, and when we see him on the porch with 
her after supper, out under the moon, he had left her 
but the brief half hour it took him to get his trunk into 
his room and change his dusty clothing for some which 
made him feel better because he thought they made 
him look better. He had not indeed been with her 
all that time alone; not even out there on the porch. 
There had been Mrs. Alston, always in the middle of a 
sentence, and Professor Walter, who played on one or 
j more of his four instruments, and Miss Anderson, 
another teacher in the school, and Patterson, who sang, 
and several of the students who had come in. But now 
they were all happily gone, and the “new Professor” 
was left alone with the “only approach to a really cul- 
tivated person” in Hollisville. The two, having rap- 
idly advanced to the point in their acquaintance for 
interchanging confidences of that nature, had been 
describing their respective conceptions of the meaning 
of existence, and the relation of man to the original 
purposes of creation. For illustrations, they had 


THE DAKK COENER 2 ^ 

not indeed strayed very far from their own 
personal experiences and circumstances; the jump 
back to Adam’s domestic affairs was a most 
abrupt performance. Aileen did not laugh, for the 
young man was almost tragically serious. Here is a 
man, he was saying, with a purpose in life, with a 
strength, too, as well as a will to rise above low, grov- 
eling things and do something in the world to justify 
his existence. Lo, the fields of opportunity lie all 
stretched out before him, but he is bound hand and foot 
by the iron chains of necessity. Instead of completing 
his law course and entering at once upon a career of 
honor and usefulness to his people and his state, here 
he is compelled to waste precious life and energy for, 
perhaps, two or three years, and in such a place as this, 
in order to get enough of this vile and filthy lucre 
called money to defray his personal expenses. 

‘‘Why do you teach?” he asked suddenly. 

“Oh, I love it,” she replied. “And while. I suppose I 
am teaching because I have to, there is such opportu- 
nity to do good in the world, especially in a small place 
like this. Besides, Professor Tilson is such a practical 
man, one can so easily see the result of one’s work upon 
the lives of others.” 

Jim had been pacing back and forth, talking in a 
semi-soliloquy, as if almost unconscious of her pres- 
ence. She felt flattered rather than chagrined at 
this. She was young, but she had had experience 
enough to know that one way a man has of flattering 
a woman is to pretend to think in her presence. When 
he turned suddenly and asked “Why do you teach?” 
she was glad of an opportunity to let him know that 
she too had ideals, but that she was realizing hers. 
Her answer was a surprise to him. He stopped and 
looked at her tho-ughtfully for a moment, and then, 
changing his manner entirely, sat down on the step 
beside her. What, after all, had he to complain of? 
Why not make the most of the situation? True, he 
was forced to postpone entering upon his career as a 
lawyer, but this was only for a short time. Mean- 
while, there might be some compensating circum- 
stances: he might, for instance, do something for the 


24 THE DAKK COKNEK 

advancement of the world even as a teacher. And here 
v/as one who was to be associated with him, who lived 
and labored in the world with a purpose in view, with 
whom service and duty and the world’s advancement, 
not mere ease and pleasure, seemed to be guiding prin- 
ciples. She, indeed, had ideals similar to his own, and 
they were to work together. She was sitting just above 
him, but a few feet away, her head resting against 
the railing of the steps and her eyes fixed upon him, 
a radiant smile lighting up her face. Jim was looking 
into these eyes, and whatever he thought he was 
thinking about guiding principles and that sort of 
thing, his journal entry describing the conversation 
contained this: ‘‘A pink rose was stuck in her golden 
hair, which, arranged like a semi-circular pompadour, 
shone like the corona around the sun; and the rays 
from her two big bright blue orbs, shining out into 
the night, went into me somewhere and — and — ^lit 
me up inside.” 

Anyway, Jim began to take a keen interest in his 
immediate surround.ings, and the two young teachers 
soon fell into a discussion of the school, and into 
more or less elaborate expositions of their respective 
theories of education. For, while Jim was preparing 
himself for the law and had no other idea of teaching 
except as a stepping stone to something better, he had 
theories. Indeed, while at college he had studied peda- 
gogy for a whole half a term, and in the company 
of the Professor of Pedagogy, had gone on three or 
four expeditions of inspection of the city schools. 
Hence, very well he might reasonably consider that he 
knew all about it. And the young lady, while two 
years younger than Jim, had been graduated from 
college at nineteen and had had a year’s experience 
under no less distinguished a preceptor than Professor 
J. Marquinius T. himself. She entered, therefore, with 
great enthusiasm into the instruction of the new 
teacher in the correct ways of teaching, as they were 
conceived and executed by the President of the H. C. 
M. I. 

“How many teachers have you in the school?” he 
asked. 


THE DARK CORNER 

was the prompt reply. And she did not speak 
in the word “seven,” hut in the figure. “Y'es,” she 
went on, seeing that Jim was impressed, “we have 
7 teachers, 139 students, representing 11 counties in 
this state, besides 3 counties outside the state. The 
teachers board in the same house and eat at the same 
table with the students, so that they have parental 
care and attention.” 

Jim thought he had read something like this in 
one of the circulars inclosed in the letter he had re- 
ceived from Hollisville, but he may have been mis- 
taken, so he made no reference to it, and the young 
lady continued. 

“When Professor came here, the school was hardly 
anything. Now it has grown to be the largest school 
in the southeastern section of the state. It has grown 
from 79 students to 139 and from one county repre- 
sented to 14.” 

Being sufficiently impressed with these mighty 
figures, Jim wanted to know how the work went on in 
the school room by which such wonderful results were 
obtained. 

“What do you teach?” he asked. 

“I taught, last year, let me see now — I taught Erench 
and German, physical geography, calisthenics, botany, 
English literature, rhetoric, zoology, trigonometry, 
elocution, dictation, and moral philosophy. Then I 
filled out my time by helping with the girls. I had 
a few of the larger girls who were under my especial 
care. They sat in my room at school and were completely 
under my control. They couldn’t speak, not even to bor- 
row a pencil or a book, without getting permission from 
me.” And her face glowed with particular delight as 
she told of this. But she added, “Professor has the 
same rule in all the rooms. He has an Officer of the 
Day to report all the students who misbehave or break 
any of the rules. The Officer of the Day does not have 
any recitations himself, but he puts on a red sash and 
keeps his cap on all the time and sits up on the stage 
with paper and pencil to take down any one’s name who 
talks or misbehaves. He has to hand in a written re- 
port just before school closes every day,” 


26 THE BARK CORNER 

When she had described the character and duties of 
this extraordinary functionary, she stopped, leaned her 
head against the post, and looked at Jim to see if he 
were sufficiently impressed. He was impressed, but 
not with that wonderful Officer of the Day. She was 
so in earnest, so enthusiastic, so filled with the idea 
of the perfect wonder of it, that back of those luminous 
blue eyes there was something which seemed to him 
very much more important. 

“What system of punishment do you like?’’ she 
asked. 

Jim racked his memory in vain for something his 
pedagogy books had said on “systems of punishment.” 
Einally in humiliation he had to confess that he was 
not familiar enough with the various “systems” to ex- 
press a preference. 

“We have the extra duty system,” she observed. 
“Are you familiar with that?” 

His blank face showed her that he was not, and she 
started with renewed enthusiasm into a somewhat 
elaborate exposition of it. 

“If a boy laughs out loud he has to walk two hours 
of extra duty, and he has to walk with his hands down 
by his side, his shoulders erect, and his gun across his 
shoulder. If ” 

“Are they supplied with guns?” Jim asked in sur- 
prise. 

“Just at present they are using sticks for guns,” 
she replied, “but Professor is going to get real guns 
for them very soon.” 

How a boy could accomplish so wonderful a feat as 
holding both his hands by his side while carrying his 
gun across his shoulder slightly puzzled Jim’s mind, 
but he did not interrupt to ask. So she continued, 

“If a boy is seen hitting another boy, or tripping 
him up, or tickling him., or sticking pins into him, or 
making faces, or shooting balls of paper, or playing 
pranks of any kind in school, he walks two hours and 
a half of extra duty. If it is a girl who laughs out 
loud or does anything against the rules, she has to 
write 2,000 words. It depends on what the offense is. 
There is a printed list of offenses, with the punishment 


THE DAKK COKNER 27 

opposite each, posted up in each room. The boys have 
to walk extra duty, and the girls have to write words, 
though both are called ‘Extra Duty.’ Sometimes as 
many as seventy-five students are on extra duty at the 
same time.” 

And back of the blue eyes, something seemed to say 
again, this time somewhat louder than before, “Really, 
now, do you think there has been anything so wonder- 
ful as this, ever ?” 

Jim, poor fellow! felt dazed for a while; and it was 
not altogether that wonderful “system” that dazed 
him. But presently, he ran across, in his memory, 
some of the things which were said in Page’s Theory 
and Practice of Teaching, Parker’s Talks on Peda- 
gogics, or the Algemeine Pedagogik, books he had read 
in his course in pedagogy. These he spouted out in as 
impressive a style as he could, feeling a strong incli- 
nation to swallow every now and then. 

Miss Hall told Jim all about the work at Hollisville 
and about the town, highly coloring everything, though 
unconsciously, in her enthusiasm. It was all so per- 
fectly splendid. She did not brag about the school; 
it was not necessary; she just told the facts and gave 
the figures. They spoke for themselves; anybody with 
a grain of sense must be impressed; they were so won- 
derful. While, as for “the Professor,” there just 
simply could not be anything so wonderful as he. 

She told him also about her Sunday School Class. 
The Professor was a Baptist, and so were all the other 
teachers, except herself, who was an Episcopalian. 
There were several Episcopal girls in the school, so 
that she took charge of these and had a Sunday School 
class for them. There were some Episcopalians in that 
section of the state and, by telling them about her 
being there, the Professor had been able to induce them 
to come to the school. 

“In a larger place,” she said, “the people do not have 
the same confidence in you, do not seem to feel the 
same dependence in you, as they do in a little place 
like Hollisville. Somehow in a place like this, you get 
nearer to the people; you know — I mean in their spiri- 
tual lives. Of course, there are quite a number of 


28 THE DAKK COENEK 

people here, and many of the pupils, who are beneath 
you in the social scale; but then, somehow, don’t you 
know, you lose sight of that, to a certain extent, in 
a little town, and you don’t mind it so much.” 

‘‘You know I have never been told what my position 
in the school is to be,” Jim observed at a later stage 
of the conversation. 

“Oh,” she said smiling, “you are to be Vice-Presi- 
dent and Professor of Latin, Greek, and English 
Philology.” 

Now do not get excited; Jim did not faint. This 
might have sounded formidable to one who had been 
out of college longer, or to one who had been in college 
longer ; but to him, who had had a four years’ smatter- 
ing, a mere taste of the upper crust of knowledge, why, 
there was nothing in his general estimation of himself 
which precluded the idea of his being vice-president of 
anything, or president, for that matter; while as for 
his being Professor of Latin, Greek, and English 
Philology, although he had studied Latin only six 
months in his whole life and scarcely knew the Greek 
alphabet, and the word “philology” was hardly yet in his 
vocabulary, this was turned around in his head with as 
much ease as if it had been that of becoming country 
mail carrier or Secretary of the United States Treas- 
ury. 

When Jim reached his room, though, it was not the 
very wonderful school nor the very wonderful “Pro- 
fessor” with which his mind was occupied; nor was he 
wholly absorbed with the consideration of guiding- 
principles; nor yet did he lose much sleep because of 
the postponement of his life’s work. But he was more 
than usually thoughtful. He looked through several 
volumes of his journal, and after turning over many 
pages, he paused a long time before a page on which 
this was written: 

“Our preacher, Mr. Humbert, says God will point 
every man to the right one for his wife. I don’t know 
how He is going to point, but if putting two people 
in the same house together, one a little boy and the 
other a little girl, and the little girl a pretty little girl 
and good and who has got some sense and the little 


THE DARK CORNER 29 

boy no kin to her, is pointing, then it must be Amy, 
and that would suit me first rate. But whoever He 
points me to I donT want her to be one of these girls 
what are always making out they don’t like hoys when 
they are most crazy about them. And I don’t care 
much about what kind of eyes and mouth she has got, 
but I want her to have a good heart and know how to 
do when company comes and how to not laugh at 
nothing. And I want her to know how to put her 
clothes on right and not be always stopping like Jessie 
Wilson to pull up her stocking. I don’t reckon I have 
ever seen her. Lots of times, though, I have looked at 
one that I thought might be the one, and every time she 
reminded me of Amy. I hope God if He is going to 
look after this business for me will make whoever is 
the one look at me the same time I look at her, because 
I don’t want to be running all about trying to get a 
look at a girl who has got her eyes on some other boy, 
like Joe Rivers runs after Ellen Kirk, when Ellen is 
looking at another boy, but I won’t say who the other 
boy is because it might not be so.” 

This was written when he was twelve years old. After 
reading it over several times, he turned on and read 
other entries of a similar nature. It was among the 
entries made during a summer vacation from college 
that he found an article entitled, ‘‘The Dream of Fair 
Women, with Apologies to Tennyson — and to Each of 
the Fair Women.” In this he had sketched, with vary- 
ing degrees of elaboration, according to the impression 
each had made on his mind — he would not say his 
heart — each girl, “into whose qualifications I have 
looked.” Among them all, still the tenderest feel- 
ings seemed to have been clustered about some vague 
being, whom he called his “first love “scarcely a being 
at all,” it read; “just a sentiment, perhaps, for I can 
scarcely remember anything except fighting for her 
and dreaming about her and longing for her when she 
was gone — and kissing her twice that day she left.” 

It all came back to him now, as it had come back 
to him many times before, that morning when the tall, 
pale-faced man drove up in front of the gate with a 
white horse hitched to a white-topped wagon. His 


so THE DARK COENER 

mother’s eyes were filled with tears as she pressed the 
little girl to her bosom and kissed her good-bye. His 
father picked her up in his big arms and set her into 
the back of the covered wagon. And he, Jim, a little 
boy ten years old, stood there leaning against the 
gate, with a far-away look in his eyes, a strange feeling 
in his young heart, and a red rose hid beneath his 
loose blouse. While the tall, pale-faced man was telling 
his mother and father good-bye, he climbed into the 
back of the wagon, took out the rose which he had 
picked from the bush he and she had hid under while 
playing “I spy,” and stuck it into her hair. Then he 
leaned over the back of the seat, put his hands on her 
golden curls, looked into her bright eyes and kissed 
her on her red lips. Noticing the red scar on her 
temple, which his mother said would be there always, 
he reached up and kissed it. Then he climbed quickly 
out, trying to look innocent, as the man climbed into 
the wagon. All this he thought of that night as he 
sat with the book on his lap and looked out into the 
darkness. 

At length he turned to a fresh page in his journal 
and wrote: 

‘T remember she had light hair. We called her 
Amy, though Mother once told me that was not the 
name she bore when she came to our house. What the 
other name is I have forgotten. It could not have 
been Aileen — oh, pshaw ! What nonsense !” 


CHx\PTER IV 

Jim was awakened the next morning by the musical 
shuffling of a shoe brush — No, it was not a shoe brush: 
it was a blacking brush, the sweet sounds of which 
have now died away forever and are heard only in our 
dreams. Before the merciless sweep of civilization, 
with its liquid inky concoction called polish, its little 
box of paste, and its assortment of dirty rags, the old- 
time blacking brush, along with its most intimate asso- 
ciate, the old-time negro, has been pushed aside to 


THE DARK CORNER 31 

take a place beside the old oaken bucket that hangs in 
the well. 

It was an old-time negro, though not an old negro, 
that was shuffling the blacking brush, and he was ac- 
companying his melody with low, even grunts in 
syncopated measure. 

^‘Hello, there. Colonel! You’re playing a tune, are 
you 

Jim rubbed his eyes and yawned. The negro cocked 
his woolly head to the left so that the whites of his 
eyes appeared from over his shoulder, and his black lips 
parted, showing two rows of pearly white teeth. 

‘^Naws’r, I’s jest blackin’ yer shoes, suh.” 

‘^Oh, that’s it, is it? I thought perhaps you were 
giving me a morning serenade.” Then opening his 
eyes a little wider and shifting the position of his head 
on the pillow so that he could get a better view of the 
negro, he said reflectively, ^Hust this little thought 
came into my consciousness. Colonel, that rather than 
allow such peaceful, Elysian repose to be subjected to 
the violent shock of an abrupt awakening, it were your 
custom here, as in the Happy Valley of Rasselas, to 
have sweet music gentJy charm one back from the 
realms of fairy-land into this world of — a — of — a, say, 
ships and shoes and sealing wax. Colonel, and cab- 
bages and kings — and — a — and — a — queens, too. 
Colonel, for I have learned, unless I have been in a 
dream all the time I have been here, that you have 
queens hereabouts. Isn’t it so. Colonel?” 

The woolly head tucked itself down over the shoe, 
and the brush shuffled vigorously. Jim raised himself, 
slightly resting his head on his elbow, and eyed the 
negro closely for a moment. 

‘‘You have read Rasselas, I suppose. Colonel, have 
you not ?” 

The negro turned his head again, looking over his 
shoulder, his mouth open wider as he saw the look of 
serious inquiry on his interrogator’s face. 

“I dunno whut dat is.” 

“Never have read it, eh? Well, I envy you. You 
certainly have a treat before you.” Jim yawned again 
and lay back on the pillow, drawing the counterpane 


32 THE DAEK COKNEE 

up around his shoulders to get another nap. The negro 
finished shining the shoes, put some fresh water into 
the pitcher on the wash-stand; then, going up near the 
bed, he gently touched the sleeper on the shoulder. 

“What’s that!” exclaimed Jim, starting. 

“Hit’s jes me,” the negro apologized, stepping back 
a few paces. “I jes wants ter ax yer if yer wants er 
fire, suh?” 

“A fire? O no, I guess not, Thomas. It isn’t cold, 
is it?” 

“Naws’r, hit ain’t cold.” 

“Well, what the deuce you suppose I want a fire for?” 
asked Jim, mors amused than angry, though he spoke 
sternly. 

“Well, suh, dey ain no tollin’ whut a gemmun mout 
want, specially sometimes.” 

Jim laughed. 

“That’s a fact sure,” he said. “I see you are a 
philosopher. Colonel.” 

“Naws’r, I ain no flossopher, but I dooz my bes ter 
satisfy er gemmun whut I waits on.” 

“Well, you’re all right, anyway, Thomas. Give me 
my trousers there.” 

“To’ which, suh?” 

“Trousers, trousers. Colonel — breeches!” 

“Oh, yas’r, yo^ britches, yas’r.” 

Jim got a dime from his trousers pocket and gave 
it to the negro, who bowed and grinned profusely and 
said “I thanks you, suh,” several times and left the 
room. 

“Hat’s de jabbemest perfesser I ever see,” he said 
to the cook as he entered the kitchen a few minutes 
later. “He tawk en tawk, en haf de time you kyant 
unerstan whut he tawkin erbout. I don’ speck he know 
heself.” 

“Who is that?” asked Mrs. Alston. 

“He new perfesser. I don’ know whut he name.” 

“Oh, that’s Professor Thompson.” 

“Hat ain’t Mr. Jim Thompson! Whar he come 
f um ?” 

Jim was still asleep when a few minutes later the 
negro again entered his room and stood over him, look- 


THE DARK CORNER 33 

ing at him a long time in silence. At length the 
sleeper’s eyes gradually opened. 

‘‘Hello, there. Colonel! What’s the matter now? 
Breakfast ready?” 

There was no answer. 

“You have breakfast in your establishment, don’t 
you. Colonel?” 

“Yas’r, we haves brekfuss.” 

“What interval of time would you say will elapse 
before that event?” 

The negro scratched his head. 

“You means how long it’s gwi be ’fo’ brekfuss?” 

“Certainly,” said Jim. “That’s what I am driving 
at.” 

“Hit’ll be ’bout twenty-five minutes, suh.’’ 

Jim began slowly to lift himself up and throw back 
the cover. 

“But what did you come back for, Thomas ?” 

“Nuffin ’tall, suh. Cep’n I ’low you mout want 
sump’n else.” 

“No, nothing, thank you, Thomas. Call again. I 
hope I make no mistake. It is — ah — ^your name, you 
know — it is Thomas, isn’t it ? Or is it just Colonel ?” 

The negro stopped again and stood looking at him 
with his eyes and mouth open, his tongue hanging out. 

“You means, is I er Colonel?” 

“Exactly. No, not exactly either. Of course, you 
are a Colonel ; but are you Colonel Thomas, or Colonel 
Bill, Colonel Jim or what? or perhaps you are just 
plain Colonel?” 

The negro grinned now all over. 

“I ain no colonel, suh.” 

“But you’ve got a name, haven’t you?” 

“Hit’s Simon, suh.” 

“Simon!” repeated Jim, “O yes, I thought so. Simon 
Peter.” Then, after a slight pause, he knit his brows 
and asked in a melancholy and solicitous tone, “How 
is your mother-in-law, Simon?” 

Simon’s under jaw went down, and his hand was 
slowly raised to his woolly head, which he began to 
scratch as a stimulant to his mental activities. 

“Hudder-in-law ? I ain’t got no mudder-in-law, suh,” 


34 THE DARK CORNER 

Jim looked graver than ever. 

‘^Ah!” he said in a tone of sympathy. ‘T hadnH 
heard a word of it. Then, the old lady is dead?” 

“Whut old lady dat you tawkin^ ’bout, suh?” 

^^Why your mother-in-law, Simon. Who else should 
we be talking about ?” 

“I specks you done git me mix up wid some er de 
udder niggers on de place. I ain never been mah’d 
yit.” 

“What!” exclaimed Jim in astonishment. “Some 
mistake somewhere sure. The Bible says so. You be- 
lieve what the Bible says, don’t you?” 

“Yas’r, I believes de Bible.” 

Jim was now sitting on his pillow in bed, his arms 
folded around his shins, his knees pressed up against 
his breast, and his chin hooked over the caps of his 
knees. The early morning sun streamed through the 
open window and fell upon the heavy and disheveled 
mass of brown hair. His whole face was illuminated 
and his gray eyes seemed to glisten as they looked 
intently at the dusky but benignant coimtenance of 
the negro, who stood at the foot of the bed; one of his 
hands pressed his ragged wool hat against his side, 
while the other rested lightly upon the lower railing 
of the bedstead. A strange light seemed to come into 
his eyes as he stood there hesitating for a moment. 
Then he ventured in an apologetic tone, 

“My name ain Simon Peter, suh : Hit’s jes Simon.” 

“Oh, that explains it.” 

But the next moment J im himself was wonderstruck, 
for the negro had stepped up closer to the bed and was 
now leaning away over, looking him full in the face 
and scrutinizing every feature. 

“What’s the matter, Simon?” he exclaimed. “What 
are you staring at me like that for ?” 

Simon straightened up, but stiU kept his gaze fas- 
tened on the man in bed. 

“I jes wan ter ax yer one question, suh.” 

“Well ax away. Colonel, ax me a hundred, but don’t 
look at me that way. You scare me to death.” 

“Is you de same Mister Jim Thompson vhut used 
ter live up in Wilson?” 


35 


THE DARK CORNER 

said Jim, “but I never killed anybody.” 

“He! he! he!” laughed Simon, “I knows dat. Mister 
Jim, but you fit er fellow powTul hard one time.” 

“I did, eh? I don’t remember that. Who was it?” 

“Mister Jim, is you done forgit Ole Simon?” 

“What’s your other name?” 

“I’s Simon Vance, suh, whut used ter play in de 
yahd wid you en de udder chillun. Don’t you member 
we had de fight ’bout do little gal whut yer maw tuk 
kyeer uv which ” 

“Simon, you black rascal, you!” exclaimed Jim, 
springing up. “Come around here and shake hands 
with me. Bless my soul, and yours too. Why didn’t 
you tell me it was you?” 


CHAPTER V 

The Hollisville Collegiate Military Institute, Pro- 
fessor Jefferson Marquinius Tilson President, opened 
on Monday morning, for it was not raining, promptly 
as soon as the hall was filled — somewhere between ten 
and twelve; the hour announced for the opening was 
nine. The whole town and surrounding country had 
been summoned to be present, and the whole town and 
surrounding country was present, for it was a great 
and auspicious occasion. 

The Reverend Jeremiah Owen Jaspar, the good Bap- 
tist divine who had been pastor in Hollisville since 
grandfathers were school boys, opened with a fervent 
and comprehensive prayer. Ed Oldham had been 
heard to say that the Reverend Jeremiah when he 
preached or prayed reminded him of one of those old- 
time eight-day clocks striking. The good ladies of the 
church said Ed was a disgrace to the community. Ed 
waited outside and smoked cigarettes until the prayer 
was over. The good divine prayed that the “Great Ar- 
chitect of the Universe, the Author andEinisher of our 
Faith,” might shower his rich and plenteous blessings 
upon all men who deserved them. “The Lord knoweth 
what things ye have need of before ye ask Him,” he 


36 THE DAEK COENER 

quoted. He prayed for peace on earth and good will 
to men, and “death to our enemies.” He prayed that 
there might be no more war, and that they might 
have strength to fight their battles to a glorious vic- 
tory. He prayed that they might be like St. Paul, “in 
whatsoever state I am therewith to be content,” while 
they yearned and struggled till this “weary, weary life 
is o’er.” He prayed that they might have everything 
that mortal heart could hope for, and that those things 
which they could not get they might have strength to 
deny themselves, because “man wants but little here 
below, nor wants that little long.” He mentioned many 
things by name, and lest anything be left out he added 
the including petition that the Lord would send them 
those things which “Thou seest we need.” He repeated 
his prayer for certain things which seemed to him to 
be of especial importance, so that the Lord might not 
forget them; among these were grace, mercy, peace, 
redemption. He prayed for these in many different 
phrases, metaphors, quotations from Scripture and 
hymns. After he had exhausted his vocabulary and 
his stock of Scripture and other quotations upon man- 
kind in general, and after Ed Oldham had smoked 
five cigarettes, he began to particularize upon that 
especial community and that especial assembly, en- 
larging his supplications now and then so as not to be 
charged with the fault of not being comprehensive 
in his prayer. He now prayed that rich and plenteous 
blessings might fall upon the teachers and children 
of that school, and upon the fathers and mothers of 
these children, upon those composing that assembly, 
and upon their friends, relatives, and acquaintances; 
upon the entire community in general; and here he 
put in a few special petitions for all other school 
children, teachers, parents, other assemblies and com- 
munities in general, with the friends, relatives, and 
acquaintances of all concerned, or who might, could, 
would, or should be concerned, and also their enemies. 
Ed had smoked up his package of cigarettes and was 
leaning over the window sill to borrow one from Dick 
[Wilson, who sat just inside. He smoked this while the 
iReverend Jeremiah stopped to catch breath; then Dick 


THE DAKK CORNER 37 

having no more, he was considering whether he should 
go down town and get another package, when the good 
divine began to get particularly fervent and eloquent. 
Ed recognized the place and knew it would be only 
about fifteen minutes to the end. The Reverend Jere- 
miah was just beginning his prayer for ‘‘that noble and 
distinguished man, that learned scholar and polished 
gentleman, that leader of men and guiding light of 
little children, that great and good man, who has been 
such a blessing to this community and the world, 
whose name was, therefore, emblazoned in shining 
letters of gold in the great Book which the Angel of 
the Lord held aloft in his right hand. Professor Jeffer- 
son Marquinius Tilson.’’ 

When finally he finished — for he did finish at last 
— the great and good man. Professor Tilson, arose and 
looked out over the admiring multitude. He stood 
there for a few minutes in silence and majesty, so that 
all might see and be impressed. Then in measured 
accents and a voice quivering with emotion and with 
greatness, he thanked the people for the support they 
had given him in the past, which support had enabled 
him to accomplish such wonderful things in that com- 
mimity. He gave them the figures as to the number 
of students, the number of counties represented in the 
school, and the number of miles traveled by the stu- 
dents to come to the school, which reached up into the 
thousands. At each one of these announcements, a 
look of awe came into the faces of his listeners; they 
were in the presence of the miraculous and the miracle 
worker. But great and wonderful as were the things 
that had been and that were, they were nothing com- 
pared with what was going to be. 

Then, after waiting for the applause to die away 
and for the audience to cease contemplating these 
wonders and behold the man who had wrought them, 
the miracle worker begged leave to introduce as the 
“Orator of the day,” “the Honorable Thomas Raymond 
Allen, Senator from Pee Dee and a distinguished mem- 
ber of the Waxton bar.” 

The distinguished gentleman from Waxton arose, — 
pulled down his vest, — took a drink of water, — cleared 


38 THE DAKK CORNER 

his throat, — made a sweeping bow, — and, as Ed Old- 
ham said, “opened fire.” 

“Ladies and Gentlemen!” he said in a mighty voice, 
raising his portly form upon his toes, and then letting 
it fall with majesty and power upon his heels, his 
proud abdomen far advanced in front and his eyes 
gazing eloquently at the big Rochester lamp which 
hung down from the middle of the ceiling. Then he 
took another drink of water, — cleared his throat again, 
and orated to the lamp, 

“It gives me untold pleasure and transcendant hap- 
piness to lend my humble presence to this sublime and 
significant occasion.” 

He paused, and, slightly lowering his eyes from the 
lamp, allowed them to survey the audience with untold 
pleasure and transcendant happiness. He paused a 
long time. With a less great man, the pause would 
have been considered awkward. He was waiting for 
something. At length Ed Oldham and some other 
young men near the door, divining what he was wait- 
ing for, started it by just a faint little stamping. It 
grew with gradually increasing force till every living 
man, woman, and child in the vast audience who had 
a pair of feet pounded on the floor as if they were 
trying to beat it down into the very earth; and, above 
the din, could be heard a shrill and piercing chorus 
of whistling from several parts of the hall, led by 
those near the door. 

The ovation was so great that the Honorable Thomas 
Raymond Allen took another drink of water. Then, 
fumbling in the mighty tails of his Prince Albert 
coat, he brought forth a bulky and learned looking 
manuscript which he proceeded with great ceremony 
to open up and spread on the table before him. Having 
pulled down his vest again, he started out in sten- 
torian eloquence, accompanied by gigantic gestures, to 
expound why on such sublime and significant occasion 
it becomes one to be transcendantly happy, and why 
the occasion itself, apart from his distinguished pres- 
ence, was so sublime and significant. After this, ho 
announced the subject of his oration, “Education the 
Palladium of our Liberties.” Rome that sat upon her 


THE DARK CORNER 3D 

seven hills, Athens that sat upon something — I forget 
now what — Alexandria with its famous libraries, 
Carthage with its Didos and things, Caesar with his 
Brutus, Napoleon and Hannibal, George Washington 
and Thomas Jefferson, General Lee and Wade Hamp- 
ton, Jefferson Davis and Abraham Lincoln, sometimes 
in their right times and settings, sometimes several 
hundred years before or after, were summoned to lend 
their lustre to the brilliant phantasmagoria which 
threatened at times seriously to interfere with the 
peaceful repose of good Brother Zeke Woodward, who 
rested his peg leg on a box over in the corner near 
the stage. It did not do it, though : but the eloquence 
did at times wake up some of the other sleepers. It 
was a great speech. Of course, he closed with a glow- 
ing tribute to “the great and distinguished scholar 
and gentleman who presides over the destinies of this 
splendid and magnificent institution.” 

At the conclusion of the great oration, the school 
sang the Star Spangled Banner. After they finished — 
that is, after most of them had finished: of course, 
they did not all get through at once — the Methodist 
preacher was called on, ostensibly to make a few re- 
marks, but really to prevent the charge of partiality 
to the Baptist preacher. Then Captain King, the 
Chairman of the Board, made a few remarks, and 
several others, including the county superintendent of 
education, who by special invitation of Professor Til- 
son, and by his sufferance, was allowed the privilege of 
appearing before that large audience. Each of these 
paid the customary tribute to the noble head of the 
splendid institution and exhorted the boys to emulate 
so illustrious a preceptor. 

Then, after all these speeches, and after a hymn or 
two had been drawled cut, Tilson, the great man him- 
self, again arose and begged leave to announce as an 
evidence of growth and prosperity and an example of 
the great things which he was bringing about and was 
going to bring about, that he had secured the services 
of a “celebrated professor,” Professor James Carlton 
Thompson, who had been elected Vice-President and 
Professor of Ancient and Modem Languages and Eng- 


40 THE DAEK CORNER 

lish Philology. Him he begged further leave now to 
introduce to the audience. 

The celebrated Professor of Ancient and Modern 
Languages and English Philology arose and stood for 
a moment stage-struck. At length, realizing that ho 
must speak, he was about to deliver an oration, pos- 
sibly about Rome and her seven hills or something like 
that, when a fortunate accident came to his rescue. 
Old man Zeke Woodward’s peg leg suddenly dropped 
off of the box and the audience took that as a signal 
for applause, during which he had an opportunity to 
collect himself. Then he started out to give some of 
his ideas upon the subject of education, with special 
reference to what he conceived to be the mission of 
this school and his own relation to it. He spoke in a 
mild conversational tone, in such striking contrast to 
the pomposity and rant which had preceded him that 
many of the people waked up and listened. Even 
Brother Zeke Woodward, whom the fall of his peg leg 
coupled with the lull in the storm had aroused, opened 
his eyes, and, getting more and more interested in 
what Jim was saying, soon got to smiling and nodding 
his approval; and Ed Oldham, who when he had seen 
Tilson get up had gone outside to smoke another 
cigarette, poked his head through the window to see 
who that fellow was talking instead of making a 
speech. 

“I am not much of a speaker. Ladies and Gentle- 
men. My understanding with Mr. Tilson” — Yes, he 
actually had the nerve to refer to the great professor 
as “Mister.” It horrified most of the audience, but 
some of them excused him on the ground that he was 
young: he would learn better, they thought. “ — My 
understanding wdth Mr. Tilson,” he said, “is that I 
have not come here to make speeches but to teach. There 
was a time, you know, when the man who could make 
the biggest speech in the neighborhood was the biggest 
man in the neighborhood, but now, when a man makes 
a big speech, many people begin to think that is all he 
can do.” 

And he did not attempt to make a speech, but 


THE HAEK COENEE 41 

rambled on for a few minutes in a conversational tone, 
in the course of which he said : 

“My idea in teaching is to develop a well rounded, 
Christian character; and the way to do this is to do 
the work set before you, leaving ^1 other things which 
tend to divert absolutely and completely alone. I 
should like to see all schools emphasize that it is not 
what you appear to be but what you really are that is 
worth while in this life: and in accord with this, it is 
not what you appear to know but what you really do 
know that is important. That is why T have little to 
do and have no patience whatever with this showing 
off business so prominent in the affairs of some 
schools.’’ 

If Jim knew he was making a break he did not show 
it. He had heard mention of certain frequent enter- 
tainments (with the accent on the merits) which had 
been instituted by the Professor, though since he had 
arrived none had been announced. But it was strange 
doctrine to that audience, which had been so carefully 
trained to believe that the “showing off business” was 
the most important part of all well regulated schools; 
and, as Jim turned to take his seat; he noticed that 
Tilson’s face had lost its smile of satisfaction. The 
Methodist preacher’s face wore a troubled look. He 
had been to call on his new member and had been 
nourishing the hope of having a Methodist rise to 
prominence in this flourishing institution, but this was 
a daring stroke and he feared the consequences. There 
was a benignant placidity in the smile of the Eev- 
erend Jeremiah. His views agreed with Jim’s exactly, 
and after the meeting broke up he took him patron- 
izingly by the hand and told him so; the one interest- 
ing circumstance about this being that the Eeverend 
Jeremiah had not the most remote idea of what Jim 
meant, and but the faintest idea of what he had said. 

In spite of this break, the speech on the whole made 
a very favorable impression on the audience. This is 
why the great Professor did not like it. He smiled, 
though, when a number of the good people, as they 
passed out, said to him that they liked the new pro- 
fessor. With his smile, however, he put in this word; 


THE DABK COENEE 

‘‘Yes, I think he will be all right when he catches on 
to our ways of doing things. He is quite young yet, 
you know.” 

‘H fear I made a fool of myself today; it looks like 
that is to be a part of my duty here, too,” is the way 
the entry in Jim’s journal for that day begins. 

Miss Hall and her friend Miss Anderson discussed 
the speech and the speaker on the way home. 

^‘Don’t you think he’s very impractical?” asked 
Aileen of her companion. 

“I don’t know,” replied Miss Anderson thought- 
fully. ^‘We ought to give him a chance.” 

“Well, I don’t like him a bit anyway,” said Aileen 
impulsively. “I think he’s too Big-Ikey.” 

They walked along for several minutes in silence. 
As they were entering the house, Aileen turned to her 
companion and said, 

“But, Katharine, don’t you think he’s nice?” 


CHAPTEE VI 

It was a quaint sight, even in Hollisville where 
quaint sights on this order were not at a premium, 
which met the eyes of Aileen, Miss Anderson, and 
Jim, as they stood one October day on the front porch 
of what the advertisements termed “Students’ Manse.” 
Slowly down the road, which in Hollisville was called 
the “street,” came a little one-horse wagon, drawn by 
a gray mule. The wagon-body was shackly and the 
wheels, with the spokes bent outward, wobbled from 
side to side. The gray- bearded, stoop-shouldered old 
man in the wagon, after standing up to put on his 
coat in honor of the town, had just settled himself upon 
the plain board seat. He was now loolcing from side 
to side, uncertain of the house at which he was to 
stop. His gray mule proffered his kindly suggestion 
by regularly and patiently stopping at each gate. 
None of these suggestions so far had met with the 
approval of the old man, who expressed his adverse 


THE DAKK CORNEK 43 

opinion with the much befrazzled stump of a willow 
switch, which in its many previous encounters with 
its adversary seemed to have come out second best. 
The face of the girl, who sat beside the old man, could 
not be seen unless one were directly in front of her, 
for her big sun-bonnet projected like a telescope 
pointed straight ahead. 

The gray mule in the usual manner suggesting 
^^Students’ Manse” his master held his disapproval in 
abeyance and the switch aloft while he asked, 

^‘Do you uns know whar Perfesser Tilson’s house is 

“Yes, sir,” answered Jim in his usually hearty 
manner. “This is the place. Won’t you light and come 
in?” 

“Wal, I don’t keer ef’n I do,” drawled the man. “Ps 
brought my gal up ter school.” 

Jim went up to the wagon and holding out his hand 
asked, “What is the name?” 

“My name’s Jordan,” was the reply. 

The old man put away the frazzled stump of the 
willow switch in the foot of the wagon, wiped his brow 
with a red bandanna handkerchief, and stepped over 
the flop-sided wheel to the ground. 

“And this is your daughter?” asked Jim, holding 
out his hand to Amanda, who sat quietly staring 
through the open end of her sunbonnet at the “Manse.” 

“Oh !” said the old man, “I’m a liar ef’n I ain’t ’bout 
ter forgit my manners. That ar’s Mandy. She ain’t 
my daughter, but my granddaughter. Amanda’s whut 
she wuz baptized, but we uns calls her Mandy. Shake 
hands wid de gentleman, Mandy.” 

He spoke to his granddaughter as if she were a child 
of four years. 

“Mandy” shook hands with the gentleman. 

“I’m glad to meet you. Miss Amanda. Let me help 
you out,” said Jim. 

But she had not been helped out of a wagon since 
she was a little girl, when, she remembered, she had 
been taken up in men’s arms and set on the ground. 
She did not know what else this gentleman could mean 
now, so she looked at him a moment, hesitating, and 


44 THE DAKK COENER 

timidly scampered out over the wheel on the other 
side. 

‘^This is Miss Hall and this Miss Anderson, both 
teachers,” said Jim as they reached the piazza. 

Mr. Jordan in reco^ition of the introduction 
looked over the rims of his steel spectacles, from one 
to another, his eye resting- finally on Aileen. Wishing 
to make some remark appropriate to the occasion, he 
observed in a drawl, 

^‘Wal, Pm er liar!” 

This piece of information fell upon startled ears. 
The Psalmist once confessed, “I said in mine haste, 
‘all men are liars!’” That was long ago, and it has 
been remarked that if the Psalmist had lived in these 
modern days he might very properly eschew his haste 
and make the observation deliberately. Nevertheless, 
when any individual makes this admission with respect 
to himself, it occasions great surprise. Fact is often 
more startling than fiction. The two young ladies 
looked their surprise, nor could they get any cue from 
looking at each other, or at Jim, who stood, solemn as 
a priest, and observed, 

“There are others.” 

All this while, Amanda stood on the edge of the 
piazza staring at the rest. Aileen, suddenly remem- 
bering her own “manners,” excused herself, saying that 
she would go in and find the Professor. Miss Ander- 
son took hold of both of Amanda’s rough hard hands, 
and looking into her face in a kindly, gracious man- 
ner, asked her if she were not tired from her journey, 

“Not so pow’ful much,” said Amanda. 

“Well, you must eat some dinner, and rest yourself 
this afternoon. Don’t you want to take off your bon- 
net now?” 

Without a word, the girl began taking off her bonnet. 
In a moment Aileen and Tilson came out and took the 
strangers into the parlor. 

“Did you notice that girl’s face?” said Miss Ander- 
son to Jim when they had gone. 

“Yes,” said Jim. “But not closely. Why?” 

“She looks like Aileen.” 

“Oh, no, the idea of such a thing.” 


THE DARK CORNER 46 

'^She has Aileen’s eyes and there is something about 
her mouth and her forehead. You notice the next time 
you see her.’’ 

Miss Hall, Miss Anderson, and Jim, having an ap- 
pointment at the school house, the girl and her grand- 
father were left in the care of Tilson, who quite char- 
acteristically took them into the dining room for 
dinner just as they were, with the dust and weariness 
of their forty miles through the sand on a hard board 
seat of a rough wagon. It was all right, so far as 
Mr. Jordan was concerned: he had done things simi- 
lar to that for fifty odd years. As for the girl, while 
she was tired and felt sorely awkward, she saw nothing 
strange or unusual in such a reception. She hung 
her bonnet on her chair in the dining room and sat 
down without any expression of surprise or displeasure. 

As two girls passed her on their way out, each 
gave the other a nudge and a curious stare; and after 
they had passed out of the room, Amanda heard a sup- 
pressed talking and laughing in the hall. She sat silent, 
though, and one might have thought, totally indifferent 
to any feature of tier strange surroundings. She was 
tired and hungry, and she ate heartily of the rice, 
stewed hash, and macaroni. During the meal, Tilson 
told her grandfather of some of the wonderful things 
about the school, and of the still more wonderful way 
he managed it. The old man was much interested, 
and turned every now and then to his granddaughter 
saying, ^‘Hear that ar, Mandy? Hear whut the Per- 
fesser say is gwine to be.” But she said nothing. She 
just sat and ate and felt strange. Perhaps she was 
thinking of some of the things and people she had lefr 
behind. Let us take a brief glance at them, and learn 
how she came to be there. 


CHAPTER YII 

Professor Jefferson Marquinius Tilson, President, 
started one day in August, prior to the opening of the 
school, on one of his frequent trips to the eastern sec- 


46 THE DARK CORKER 

tion of the county, that portion known as “The Dark 
Comer.” His road ran through a low, flat, savannah 
country, broken now and then by a patch of corn, cot- 
ton, or potatoes, carefully fenced in by a zigzag rail 
fence to keep the roaming hogs and cattle out. The road 
was sandy, the sand for much of the way six inches 
deep, and it was scarcely wide enough anywhere for two 
vehicles to pass. Vehicles, did I say? Tilson drove 
a shining bay horse to a shining top buggy, with bright 
red wheels newly enameled. All the other vehicles 
were of one pattern — a plain square box, mounted on 
two cmde wheels, two rough poles projecting from 
underneath, between which slowly plodded a half-fed 
ox with its tongue hanging out of its foaming mouth. 
The driver plodded along in the sand beside the ox. 
Meeting the great man in the magnificent turn-out 
he would drive to one side of the road, stop and stare 
till the impressive spectacle had passed him, when he 
would turn, and, shading his eyes with his lean and 
rusty palm, look back till, buried in a cloud of dust 
or hidden by clumps of trees where the road turned, 
the vision from fairy-land had faded from his view 
and left him again in a world of stern reality. 

“How far is it from here to Barhamville ?” Tilson 
asked of one man he met. 

The man had already stopped his ox, and stood lean- 
ing up against the wheel of his cart. He spit a big 
mouthful of tobacco “juice” upon the shining nickel 
hub of the Professor^s shining red buggy wheels and 
observed, 

“To Barhamville? Well, lemme see!” 

He bit off a fresh “chaw” of tobacco, half closed 
his right eye, cocked his head to one side, and looked 
pensively over Tilson^s head at the top of a tall pine 
tree on the other side of the road, and studied a while. 
Presently he said in a nasal drawl, 

“Well, hit^s ’bout fo’teen mile to ole man Bill Jor- 
dan’s; en hit’s ’bout — ^now lemme see! Hit’s ’bout — 
yeh, hit’s ’bout nine mile fum thar to BaPinville.” 

Tilson drove on about two miles further and met 
another man with a cart. Of him he asked how far it 
was to Barhamville, 


THE DAKK COKNER 47 

‘HliEs jes twelve mile fum that ar piece of woods 
you jes pass/^ was the reply. In a moment he added, 
‘‘That is, eEn you gwine by ole man Bill Jordan^s, 
which’n I ’low you is.” 

Tilson had never heard of Mr. Jordan, hut as every- 
body seemed to mention him, he came to the conclu- 
sion he must be a prominent man in the community. 
About three hundred yards further on, he saw a woman 
chopping lightwood from a stump. He asked her the 
usual question. 

“Wal,” said she, “we uns calls hit sixteen mile ter 
old man Bill Jordan’s; en fum thar ter Bar’mville, 
hit’s ’bout twenty mile, I reckin.” 

The Professor was quite used to the very certain 
but quite various ideas about distances on the road. 

“Where does Tom Smith live?” he asked another 
man. 

“Who! Tom Smith? Wal, you can’t miss hit ter 
save yer life. You jes go right by ole man Bill Jor- 
dan’s, en then you go ’bout two mile further on the 
same straight road. Thar’s er road turns off jes atter 
you pass ole man Bill Jordan’s, but you keep the same 
road en you see er little school house off in the pines, 
but ’fo you git thar you turn off ter the lef’. Then you 
jes keep the straight road fer erbout three mile, en 
then you turn off ter the right and go right over the 
swamp. Atter you git ’cross the Washmore Swamp, 
you find three roads, but you jes take the plainest road 
and then ’bout two mile further anybody kin tell yer 
whar Tom Smith lives. You can’t miss hit.” 

Tilson drove on about six miles further, when he 
came to a place which appeared to his trained eye to 
be the habitation of a big man. The road was wider, 
there was a look of plenty, the farm seemed larger, 
and there were indications of an older settlement. 

“It must be none other than the home of ‘Ole Man 
Bill Jordan,’ ” thought he. 

The house was of the usual type, a one-story log 
house, but somewhat larger than those he had been 
passing, having several rooms, each evidently built at 
different times. It was set back on a sand hill, sur- 
rounded by stunted oak trees on either side, forming 


48 THE DAKK COKNER 

an avenue. In front were a number of log sheds, 
more or less tumbled down, patched, and propped up. 
These were for the stock, the corn, the farming tools, 
and the like. Strewn all over the place, he noticed 
every sort and description of old worn-out vehicle and 
farming implement the country was acquainted with, 
and numerous pieces everywhere, — ^wheels in various 
stages of mechanical decomposition, ox-cart bodies, 
plow stocks, and heaps of odd pieces, which might have 
been the remains of the Wonderful One Hoss Shay. 

“Hello!” 

This is the usual way of ringing the door bell in the 
Dark Corner. No one answered. 

“Hello!” he called again, somewhat louder than 
before. 

In a few minutes, a pale, sallow-faced, timid-looking 
girl, about sixteen years old, with big blue eyes and 
brown disheveled hair, appeared at the door and 
stared curiously at the strangely dressed man in his 
strange vehicle. She was dressed in checked home- 
spim, a plain loosely fitting garment, in one piece, 
striking her just below the knees. She wore no shoes, 
no stockings, and her bare legs were rough and sun- 
burned from working in the fields. Yet she interested 
Tilson intensely, not because he had not seen the like 
before, but because he had. His acute eye had 
already observed the well filled cribs of corn, the fat 
hogs rooting in the lot, and the six or eight bales of 
cotton piled up in the grove. 

“Is this where Mr. William Jordan lives?” he asked 
in his most impressive and pleasing manner. 

“Naws’r,” came the answer in a nasal drawl. 

Tilson was genuinely surprised, and he sat wonder- 
ing what next to do. 

“Do you mean Bill Jordan?” This came a moment 
later without any change of tone or manner. 

“Yes, certainly.” 

“Wal, then ef’n you mean him, this is whar he 
stays.”* 

Tilson began taking ofi' his gloves, dropping the reins. 
Presently Mrs. J ordan came to the door and asked him 
if he would not get out and come in. Mr. Jordan was 


THE DAKK COKNER 49 

down in the field ^^er git’n in ther corn,” but she 
‘^’lowed” he would be home “terrectly.” 

Mrs. Jordan was barefooted. She, too, was dressed 
in a loose, one-piece garment of checked homespun, 
reaching to her ankles. There was, however, with hers 
a crude attempt to gather it at the waist with a broad 
band of the same material as the dress. 

“Thar’s Grampa,” said the girl dryly, as the Pro- 
fessor got out impressively. Tilson turned and beheld Ole 
Man Bill Jordan himself coming up through the grove 
driving a rickety wagon laden with ripe corn, drawn 
by a gray mule. He reached the com crib, halted his 
mule, and came staring up to his visitor. He was a 
man of medium build, nearing sixty years old, slightly 
stooped, with a long, thick, shaggy beard covering the 
greater portion of his sallow, wrinkled face. His dark 
eyes were small and sunken, and he wore a pair of 
steel-framed spectacles that were set far down on his 
scrawny nose. Stopping now just in front of his visi- 
tor, he stood looking over the rims of his spectacles. 

“How are yon, Mr. Jordan?” said the Professor. 

“I’m a liar ef’n you ain’t got the vantage o’ me,” 
observed Ole Man Bill Jordan. 

“I am Professor Tilson, Professor Jefferson Mar- 
quinius Tilson, President of the Hollisville Collegiate 
Military Institute, sir.” 

The old man eyed him in amazement for an instant, 
his under jaw gradually lengthening. 

“Wal, I’ll be dad smashed!” he exclaimed at length. 
Then stepping back a few feet, he inquired by way of 
proof of the startling fact, “You air?” 

The Professor proved his identity by displaying the 
gilded head of his cane and majestically sticking his 
left thumb into the arm-hole of his vest so that his 
diamond studs might sparkle in the afternoon sun. 

“But ef’n you air er ef’n you ain’t, thar’s one thing 
you air. You air welcome. Jis walk in the house, 
Perfesser, with the Ole Oman and Mandy whilst I 
put up yer boss. I ’low you’s gwi stay all night with 
us?” 

Tilson “’lowed” that he would be pleased to confer 
that honor, 


50 THE DAKK CORNER 

‘^Wal, now, Perfesser,’^ observed the old man, stop- 
ping in his preparations for taking the horse out, “I 
don’t reckin hit’ll be es fine es you air use ter, cause 
we air jes plain folks, but ef’n you kin stan’ hit, we’ll 
give you the bes’ we got.” 

“Certainly,” said Tilson grandly. “I shall be glad 
to stay with you, for I hear the people all along the 
road speak of you as the most prominent man in this 
part of the country.” 

Mr. Jordan showed no signs of puffing up at this 
tribute to his prominence. 

“Wal, I ben here in this country er long time, Per- 
fesser, en mos’ all of them knows me, I reckin.” 

Tilson started to assist in taking out the horse, but 
the old man said to him, “You better let me do this, 
Perfesser. You got on your fine clo’se.” 

“Oh, no,” said Tilson. “These are my everyday 
clothes.” 

The old man was unbuckling the holding-back strap. 
He stopped and again eyed his visitor over the rims of 
his spectacles. 

“Wal, then. Pm er liar ef’n you air use ter foolin’ 
longside er no hoss.” 

The point was well taken with the Professor. He 
realized that while he must enter as much as possible 
into the lives of these people, he must yet beware lest 
they consider it possible for them to enter into his 
life; he must preserve in his manner and speech, as 
well as in his dress, sufficient distinction to show them 
that he lives in a bigger and better and altogether more 
to be desired world than they. Else, why should they send 
their children to him to be made like him, wear clothes 
like his, know the things he knows, and gather to 
themselves the dignity, the portliness, and the great- 
ness they see in him, which they may not have but 
which their children may? The Professor desisted 
from any further attempt to assist in such menial ser- 
vice as unhitching a horse. Taking his grip, his 
gloves, his cane, and his exalted self, he walked with 
great dignity and majesty into the house. 

“So you air got a school up at Hollisville, air you?” 
asked Mr. Jordan when he came into the house. 


61 


THE DARK CORNER 

is not a school. It is a college.” 

“And what mought that be?” asked Mr. Jordan. 

“That,” replied the Professor with the grand man- 
ner, “is an institution where boys and girls go to finish 
off their education.” 

“Now, that’s what I am looking for,” said the old 
man, moving nearer to where the Professor sat, and 
showing a keen interest. 

“One hundred dollars, sure!” thought Tilson. Then 
he said in a surprised tone, “Is that so?” But quicHy 
added: “Oh, yes, certainly, you are looking for a col- 
lege to send your daughter to.” It would not do to 
display any uncertainty of the fact that Miss Amanda 
had reached such a point of advancement that she was 
ready to be “finished off’.” 

“Now you air talkin,’ Perfessor; though she ain’ 
my daughter, but she’s jes’ the same as my daughter. 
Mandy’s my daughter’s gal whut’s dead, and her Paw 
is dead, too. Both uv ’em died when she wuz a leetle 
tinchy bits uv a gal. They wuz two chillun, this un 
en another one which’n we don’t know whar she is. 
Her Paw lef’ her in the city with some folks, en Mandy 
he lef’ fer a while with some folks over in Wilson, but 
he brought her here jes’ ’fo’ he died, en we is riz her 
since. En we w^ants ter give her er chance in the 
worl,’ which’n we ’low her sister in ther city is er 
havin’. How much do yer charge at yo’ school, Per- 
fesser ?” 

Tilson was not quite ready to answer this question. 
The H. C. M. I. had no rates. It was the financial 
policy of that institution first to find out what the 
patron had, and, if agreeable to all parties, take that. 
If for any reason this should not be agreeable to all 
parties, then some lesser amount was fixed upon. If, 
peradventure, some man were found who had no ready 
money, but who had, instead, a few large banks of 
sweet potatoes, or turnips, or cabbages, then an 
arrangement was perfected by which these surplus 
articles should be taken in payment for tuition and 
board. So also with hogs, sheep, beeves, grits, molasses, 
butter, eggs, and other farm produce. 

But the financial agent of this institution had not 


52 THE DARK CORNER 

enjoyed a sufBciently long acquaintance with Ole Man 
Bill Jordan to know what and how much that gentleman 
had; nor had he yet learned how much the old man 
would be willing to pay. Accordingly, the great educa- 
tor waived this question of rates, and descanted at 
length and learnedly upon the great value of an educa- 
tion, and the duty of a parent to give his child the very 
best advantages the times and the great men of the 
times, one of which was there present, afforded. This 
was successful. So much interest did Mr. and Mrs. 
Jordan, and the young lady herseK, take in this lec- 
ture and the great man who was delivering it, so 
entertaining was he, with his jokes and his smiles 
and his flow of big words and his elegant personality, 
which included the Prince Albert coat, the laundered 
collar, the paste diamond stud, and the enameled 
shoes, that after supper they sat out on the piazza 
until far into the night. Indeed, it must have been 
nearly nine o’clock before they went to bed. 

To a man living thirty miles from a railroad, in a 
crude primitive country, sparsely settled, and having 
no striking natural features such as mountains, or sea, 
or luxuriant woods, a visitor from town, a real, live, 
sure enough one that wears gloves and eye-glasses and 
a high hat, and carries a cane, is a strange and inter- 
esting phenomenon. This man of the Dark Corner, to 
whom the Professor is not only a strange and interest- 
ing phenomenon but a great man, is himself uninterest- 
ing, but so exceedingly uninteresting that he is 
interesting. While he and his family and their dis- 
tinguished guest are asleep, then, let us take a look 
at them. We may thus not only enlarge our circle of 
acquaintances among the peoples of this earth, but we 
may better understand the secret of success of Pro- 
fessor Jefferson Marquinius Tilson and the H. C. M. I. 

The house, built of pine logs daubed with clay, an 
occasional piece of unplaned plank helping to keep the 
wind away, is set on the side of the road, surrounded 
by a few acres of cleared land, in a low, flat, unpro- 
pitious looking coimtry, in the midst of waste savan- 
nahs, on every side peering the ghastly faces of sapped 
turpentine trees. The turpentine worker and the tim- 


THE DAEK COKNER 53 

ber cutter, wanderers and gatherers, have come and 
gone, leaving their marks of desolation upon the face 
of the woods, and upon the face of the man, a weary, 
stranded, helpless straggler, left in his ignorance, in- 
dolence, and poverty, to dig a meagre sustenance from 
the undeveloped soil. 

With the assistance of an ox, the Dark Corner man 
raises enough corn to make his bread and grits, which, 
with the bacon and lard he gets from his hogs, roaming 
through the woods, form his chief daily diet. If he 
has some swamp land, he has also a little patch of 
cane. From this he makes molasses, which he eats for 
dessert, three times a day, sopping it with corn-bread. 
In summer^ he adds to his menu of bacon and grits, 
— ^‘hog and hominy” — a few garden vegetables, of 
which cabbage, boiled in plenteous pork, is his favorite. 
He likes this especially for supper, wondering the next 
day why he has indigestion. Sweet potatoes, also, he 
raises, banking them up in shucks covered over with 
dirt to save them from the frosts of winter. These, 
every now and then when he feels he can afford it, he 
bakes or fries, — in plenteous pork, — thus relieving his 
precious supply of corn-meal and grits. Such luxuries 
as sugar, coffee, wheat-bread, and clothes he indulges 
in but sparingly. 

The Dark Corner woman does all the house-work, 
which consists in cooking the greasy meals, milking the 
cow — ^when there is one — and making up the beds. 
Once every week she washes what few clothes the 
family wears, and every now and then she sweeps. 
She spins cotton, and weaves it into coarse cloth, out of 
which she makes the bed linen and clothes for herself 
and the children, and sometimes for her husband. In 
addition to this, when there is a press of farm work, 
which is about the only time her husband himself 
does any really hard work, she goes out with him and 
helps in the field. Mr. Dark Comer Man plows and 
hoes the corn and the little cotton patch. He also 
carries corn to the mill, he and the ox, once a week. 
The mill is four miles away; going to mill and back is 
a day’s job. 

But these people, simple, indigent, and poverty- 


64 THE DAKK COKNER 

stricken as they are, are yet independent, having at 
hand the means of supplying their simple animal 
wants. They have few of any other kind of wants, 
and what they have are supplied in their religion, 
which is their one intellectual and emotional exercise. 
They go to church once a month, learn the deaths and 
marriages among their neighbors, hear the preacher 
shout for an hour on the way Christ was baptized. 
Justification by Faith, the Apostolic Succession, Pre- 
destination, or Redemption by the Blood of the Lamb, 
and are satisfied. Such questions as. Why is Crime 
on the Increase, The Downward Tendencies of the Re- 
public, and The Perpetuation of Aryan Civilization, 
disturb not their peaceful slumbers, nor cause the 
noon-day meal to go untasted. They have no books, 
take no newspapers, get no mail, have no telephone in 
the house, have no party calls to pay, no club meetings 
to attend, and spend little time looking over fashion 
plates and talking to insurance agents. 

Their habits of life are simple and regular. They 
get up at early dawn and have breakfast “ber sun up.” 
If it is in the busy season on the farm, the men and 
the boys and the girls, and often the mother, go ofi 
just after breakfast to work in the fields. If there is 
no work of any kind to do, they all get up just the 
same and breakfast “ber sun up.” The oxen are soon 
fed, and the housework is quickly done as usual. The 
rest of the day they all just sit down and wait for 
night. They do not read, often they cannot; they 
play no games; have no company except at rare inter- 
vals: so that in “lay by time” or when it is too wet to 
plow, or in winter when there is plenty of lightwood 
(pronounced “lightud”) gathered and split up, and 
enough corn shucked for immediate uses, the chief 
occupation is to sit down, bestirring themselves enough 
to cook and eat their three meals a day; then sleep. 
The women are a little better off than the men, having 
more resources; they can knit. The men^s energies 
must be expended on their pipes. They do not sleep 
in the day time, these people: the nights are always 
long enough for sleep, for night with them begins at 
dark. After supper they sit down for half an hour. 


THE DARK CORNER 56 

or not so long, by the light of a pine torch — a ^^lightud 
knot” — or by the blaze upon the hearth, and then go to 
bed. The next morning, they rise up and proceed 
as before. 

However ignorant now, and however deeply steeped 
in poverty, the doors to the homes of the Dark Corner 
people are open at all times to any stranger, or to any 
visitor from anywhere who may choose to honor them 
with his company. They are like most other people, 
though; that is, they expect guests to entertain rather 
than to be entertained. A visitor must, with them as 
with other people, earn the hospitality he receives by 
helping them to kill time, of which they have a sur- 
plus. Professor Jefferson Marquinius Tilson under- 
stands well how to do this. He has studied it. There 
is no man, however ignorant, poor, lazy, or indolent 
who does not possess in some form a thirst for knowl- 
edge. It may not be for classical lore, you understand, 
nor for great scientific truths, nor philosophical and 
speculative theories. It often does not extend beyond 
the desire to know what the President eats for lunch- 
eon, or the cut and color of a neighbor’s dress. Gossip 
itself, so much condemned, is but a popular and agree- 
able exercise of this faculty possessed by all human 
kind whose function is to reach out after truth. The 
mind, like the body, can live only by the sustenance it 
gets from without. It, too, must have accretions. An 
accretion may be the fact that every molecule of 
matter attracts every other molecule with a force in- 
versely proportional to the square of the distance, or 
the fact that it rained four miles up the road this 
afternoon. It may be the fact that King Solomon 
in his day was much given to matrimony, or that 
Sallie Newton and Joe Watson ran away and got mar- 
ried last night. The Professor knows this and he 
governs himself accordingly, having at hand always 
that with which to supply the accretions to the Dark 
Corner minds. Mr. Dark Corner Man likes also to 
laugh. In common with all good people, he must laugh. 
And, though endowed, perhaps, with a less keen sense 
of humor, he yet sees things to laugh at which others 
cannot see. Associating day after day with the dull 


se THE dark: corner 

inembers of his own family, whose ability to see rela- 
tions is hedged about with such narrow limitations, 
although the ludicrous in a situation or in a remark 
may escape him, being yet compelled to laugh, it is 
but natural that he should develop the habit of laugh- 
ing upon little provocation. But the provocation has 
more durable properties with him. He hears a joke — • 
v.’hether he sees the point, or whether there is any 
point, is of little consequence or concern; he laughs 
because it is a joke. Then he tells it to his wife and 
laughs at it again. The next day he tells it to his 
wife again and then she laughs with him. He tells it 
to her every day for several weeks and each time they 
laugh. And so his jokes last a long time, which is a 
wise provision of Providence. As the good people of 
Drumtochty made it a rule never to laugh to their 
fullest heartiness at anything however funny because 
they feared something funnier might happen when they 
would not know what to do, so our good people of 
the Dark Corner make it a rule to laugh just as long as 
possible at one joke for fear it may be a long time 
before they hear another. And so the wise Professor 
has already at hand a full stock of jokes to tell his 
hosts. Some of them had whiskers before you and I 
were born, but they were new in the Dark Corner, and 
will be told there, and laughed over, for a hundred 
years or more after you and I are dead. 

Having had a glance at these people, you must yet 
be mindful of the wholly histrionic character of the 
journey among them of the distinguished educator. 
He plays a part, and as in most modern plays, the lines 
are subordinated to the costume, the scenery and the 
stage effects. 

Steam laundered collars and cuffs! Most of the 
Dark Corner people had never heard of them. 

“What collars they do wear in town, George!” the 
Professor once overheard. “Is they paper, you ’low ?” 

“No. Celluloid, you blame fool, you!” 

“Lor! You fellows don’t know nothin’. Them’s jis 
reg’lar sto’ bought collars, but they’s done up in a 
fact’ry like place. They calls em lawny collars er 
eump’n like that.” 


THE DAKK CORNER 67 

The Professor thereafter took particular pains that 
his linen should be the subject of attention and re- 
mark. 

Likewise his hat. One or two out of a large family 
with which one night he stopped had heard of a man 
who had once seen a high silk hat. From that time 
on, the Professor invariably wore a high silk hat. 

‘^Early to bed, early to rise. 

Makes a man healthy, wealthy and wise.” 

To which, bearing in mind Ole Man BiU Jordan 
and others like him, we might add a line, 

*‘A11 of which is a pack of lies.” 

Tilson’s discourse on education had had a powerful 
effect. In the morning, the two men walked out to 
look at the pigs. 

‘Terfesser, I ben thinkin’ ’bout whut you wuz saying 
las’ night, en the Ole Oman en me ben talkin’ ’bout hit. 
Hit’s jes whut I ben savin’. I b’lieves in ejjication. 
I jis tol’ the Ole Oman tother day, en she’ll tell you 
the same thing, that I’m er liar ef’n the very bes’ 
thing you kin give er chile ain’t er good ejjication.” 

^‘There can be no doubt about that,” said Tilson with 
impressiveness, ‘^and I’m not at all surprised to see a 
man of your high position look at it that way.” 

“Wal, hit’s this erway, Perfesser, ez I wuz er sayin’ 
ter the Ole Oman,” continued Mr. Jordan, encouraged 
by this commendation from the great man, “I says 
ter the Ole Oman, you mout give ’em Ian’ but they 
kin mortgage hit, en likely ez not loss hit: en then 
you mout give ’em money, but that ain’t ez good ez 
land, cause they kin run thoo that. But ef’n you give 
’em er ejjication, you give ’em sump’n whut they can’t 
never spen’, en whut ain’t nobody kin take hit erway 
fum ’em. Yas’r, Perfesser, I air always ben er pow’ful 
b’liever in ejjication.” 

“You certainly have the right idea about things, Mr. 
Jordan,” observed Tilson. “It does me good to talk 
with a man of such liberal views, and such sound 
ones.” 


THE DAEK COENER 

“Tas’r, thar’s no doubt erbout hit ^tall. Hit’s the 
bes’ thing er man kin give his chillun.” 

They had returned to the house, and taken seats on 
the piazza. The old man drew up his chair near to 
his visitor and peered intensely into his face. 

‘^Now, Perfesser, le’s me’n you talk er little busi- 
ness.” 

The Professor was now ready for business. 

“Thar’s Mandy, now, Perfesser, I done tol’ yer ’bout 
how her maw and paw air both dead en how she wuz 
brought out hyuh whar she wan’t bawn. Wal, now I 
wants ter give her er better chance, en 1 wants ter give 
her sump’n whut nobody can’t take erway fum her. 
She’s er pooty peert gal ez you is seed, en she’s pooty 
fer erlong in books, too. She’s been gwine ter school 
hyuh in the country three er fo’ months ever’ year 
sence she wuz eight year ole, en she’s gwine on seven- 
teen now. She’s erbout gone ez fur as she kin go hyuh, 
en now I wants ter sen’ her up thar ter you fer er 
munt er two ter finish off.” 

Tilson did not laugh. He could not expect “fer er 
munt er two” of tuition and board to get all the pro- 
ceeds of the cotton he saw piled up in the grove before 
him, but he felt satisfied that once the girl was up at 
Hollisville she would want to stay longer, and he be- 
lieved that the old man would be willing to let her do 
as she liked. 

It was soon put in black and white, for “business 
is business,” said Tilson, that Amanda should go to 
Hollisville. Mr. Jordan promised to pay ten dollars 
a month for her board, ten for her tuition, ten for her 
uniform and five for her books. 

The matter of Amanda’s advancement or of her 
fitting into any of the classes in the Institute had not 
occurred to the Professor at all, but Mr. Jordan already 
felt proud of the high stand she would take. 

“She’s er mazin’ smart gal, Perfesser. She’s fur 
erhead er any er the res’ down hyuh. Some teachers 
whut we’s been git’n hyuh can’t teach her no mo’; en 
that’s why I air been want’n her to go off ter school. 
She knows everything they kin teach. Now jes’ fer 
instance, one er the teachers we had last year said 


THE DARK CORNER 69 

Mandy oughter be studdy’n grammar; but they ain’t 
nobody come erlong whut kin teach that ar study. I 
reckin, though, you kin teach hit up thar at yo’ school, 
can’t you, Periesser?” 

“O yes,” said the Professor grandly, as if the teach- 
ing of grammar were as common a thing with him as 
tv/isting his moustache, which little ornament he did 
twist slightly then by way of illustration. ‘*We have 
a dozen classes in grammar.” 

“Now, ’bout ’rithmertic,” continued Mr. Jordan; 
“she knows ’rithmertick right smart. Pm er liar ef’n 
I ain’t heerd her myself say the fif’ table back’ards en 
for’ard en ever’ other way. I don’t reckin you got any 
boys er gals whut’ll beat her in ’rithmertic.” 

It was upon his granddaughter’s moral qualities, 
though, that the old man grew most enthusiastic. 

“She won’t give you no trouble, Perfesser. Naw, 
suh, she’s one er the best gals I ever seen in my life. 
She’s ez good ez they make ’em. She ain’t never ben 
no trouble ter us at home, en they ain’t ben no teacher 
hyuh yit whut’s complained uv her. Yas’r, you air 
gwi fin’ she’s er mazin’ good gal.” 

Tilson having said goodbye to Mrs. Jordan and 
Amanda, the old man followed him out to the buggy. 
After Tilson got in, Mr. Jordan leaned over the wheel 
and said confidentially, but with the conscious look 
of a gratified father, “Ter tell you the straight truth, 
Perfesser, I air watched her mighty close ever sence 
she’s been hyuh with us, en I ain’t never heerd her use 
er cuss word in her life.” 

Observing a strange look on the Professor’s face 
which he took for incredulity, he added with earnest 
emphasis, 

“I’m er liar ef’n that ain’t ther God’s truth; en the 
Ole Oman’ll tell you the same thing.” 


CHAPTER VIII 

After it was decided that Amanda should go off to 
school, the Jordan family felt called upon, in what 
time they could spare from picking the cotton and 


60 THE DAKK COKNER 

‘“git^n in the com,’’ first to sit down, hold their hands, 
and speculate upon what a fine lady she would be when 
she should come back. After this had occupied a period 
of some three or four weeks, there were yet a few 
days which could be given up to the necessary prepara- 
tions. Though she was to get a fine uniform at Hollis- 
ville, she would need a few clothes besides. 

Now this going off to school was an event not only 
in the Jordan household; news of it having been dis- 
seminated through the regular and long established 
medium, ^^church,” it was the talk of the whole sur- 
rounding neighborhood. There was, therefore, no lack 
of those who, in order to join in the family specula- 
tions as to the final outcome, would have gladly gone 
over to the Jordans and assisted with the sewing. But 
it was the busy season; other people besides the Jor- 
dans were “git’n in the corn.” So it happened that 
J ane Moore, a crippled girl who could not work in the 
field, was the only one who could come. This, in truth, 
W’as much to Amanda’s liking, though she said nothing 
about it; for this arrangement necessitated somebody’s 
bringing Jane in a cart. Who, now, was there to do 
this but Jane’s brother, a youth by the name of Tom? 

Now when the news had spread that Mandy was 
going off to school a few^ girls were a little bit envious, 
and several men were disposed to say that Ole Man 
Bill Jordan must have lots of money to be wasting it 
that way; but only one person in all the community 
around really viewed the enterprise with downright 
disapproval and displeasure. This was Tom Moore. 

Tom was a long, lank, good-natured, red-headed 
youth about eighteen, whom everybody in the com- 
munity liked and whom nobody admired. His father 
considered him a pretty good plow hand, but he 
v/ouldn’t plow except when there was something else 
more important and urgent to be done. The teachers 
at school pronoimced him the best all-round fellow at 
school to do anything anybody suggested except study. 
But there was no way to punish him, for he liked all 
things equally well and showed on all occasions and 
under all circumstances that he would as lief do one 
thing as another, if indeed he would not rather. If 


THE DAKK CORNER 61 

the teacher kept him in at recess, he took much more 
interest and delight in fixing a broken bench or chair 
than in anything the boys ever did on the playground. 
If for any dereliction he was given extra work to do, he 
would invariably turn up with a small part of it done 
and talk and beam with such delightful anticipations 
of the pleasure he was going to have doing the rest of 
it that the teacher felt that in order to punish him 
with any effect he ought to be excused from doing any 
more. 

There were two routes Tom could take going to and 
from school; by one it was two miles, by the other it 
was three and a half. Both going and coming he in- 
variably took the three and a half mile route. This 
was not because Tom was a fool. Amanda lived one 
mile from the school house, on the long way. This 
must have been a very rough part of the road, too, for 
it always took Tom longer to walk that one mile than 
to walk the other two and a half. When school was 
not going on, which was more than three-fourths of 
the time, Tom’s inventive faculty had to be brought 
into exercise to get something to take the place of that 
one mile walk. And it was, therefore, when school was 
not in session that Tom did his hardest study. They 
had ^^church” only once a month, and as there were 
so many grown folks about, it was difficult for him to 
get to talk with ^‘Mandy” even then. He did manage, 
though, to sit where he could see her, and where she 
could see him when she chose; and she chose as often 
as she imagined he was looking the other way. But 
he never was. 

But Tom’s chief displeasure at Amanda’s going away 
was not because he would miss seeing her. There was 
another matter that preyed upon his mind; and, here 
again, this was not because Tom was a fool. He 
had heard of gilds going off to town to school before. 
On several occasions in his life, he had gone to camp- 
meetings where there were one or two of these town 
fellows dressed up in fine clothes, with ‘^biled shirts” 
and ^^sto’-bought” socks of variegated hues, their hair 
parted in the middle and plastered down to their heads 
with some kind of sticky stuff, with the corners of 


62 THE DAEK CORNER 

fancy colored silk handkerchiefs sticking out of their 
side pockets, and loud smelling cologne oozing out all 
over them. He had noticed with what little difficulty 
these fellows always got with the prettiest girls at the 
camp-meeting and walked with them to the spring. 
There were plenty of these fellows in town. What if 
Mandy, like all these other girls, should — “Oh, hit’s 
all dad busted foolishness,” he exclaimed to himself; 
and he made a similar exclamation to Amanda the 
next day when he went with his sister up to the 
Jordans’. 

“Whut you wanter be gwine up thar with them stuck 
up folks fer? They ain’t gwineter keer nothin’ ’bout 
you.” 

“Wal, I reckin they kin let me erlone, then, can’t 
they?” retorted Amanda. “I ain’t gwine thar fer no- 
body ter keer ’bout me. I’m gwine thar ter larn some- 
thing.” 

“Yeh !” Tom answered in a tone of disgust, “en you’ll 
he cornin’ back here with all sorts of hifalutin notions 
in yer head, too, like all the other gals whut goes up 
thar.” 

“I thought you ’lowed I had mo’ sense than other 
gals.” 

“Wal, you has, Handy. But you don’t know. Them 
town boys is mighty smart.” 

“Wal, then, that’s whut I’m gwine up thar fur. I’m 
gwine ter larn. Then I’ll be as smart as they is.” 

Amanda’s expression, as we have noticed, when with 
strangers was usually blank. But her big eyes were 
not dull, and Tom was not a stranger. The nearest 
approach to mischief that ever came into her expres- 
sion was on her face now. She even giggled when 
Tom replied, 

“En whut is you gwine ter lam? — ’Cep’ er lot er 
dad busted foolishness? You know ez well ez I do that 
you knows enough now.” 

Whether she knew that she knew enough or not, 
Amanda’s preparations went on, and Tom drove back 
his ox with a sense of defeat. He had to bear it, but 
the poor old ox had something to bear, too, as he and 
his master plodded along through the savannahs. The 


THE DAEK COKNER 63 

white ^Taced’’ turpentine trees seemed to Tom as if 
they were grinning at him, and the ox felt the indirect 
consequence. Tom sulfered internally while the ox 
suffered externally. This correlated suffering was most 
intense as they passed a little clump of unboxed pine 
trees, “round timber,’’ as the inhabitants called it. 
Here, in his fancy, the lover had built him a neat 
log house and a barn for his ox. He had even dreamed 
of some day replacing the log house with a frame one, 
and had peopled it, in his finer fancy, with himself 
and Mandy and the humble beginnings of a new race 
of men. He had already spoken to his “paw” about 
the log house; and, as Mandy had only half shied and 
then smiled when he had mentioned it to her, on the 
way from school, he had accustomed himself to look 
upon the matter as settled. “Now thar’s no tollin’ 
whut’ll come er this hyuh fool Hollisville business,” 
he was saying to himself, and remarking in still harsher 
tones to his beast, “Go ’long thar, you dad busted fiop- 
eared fool, you!” 

In a few days Mrs. Jordan, with the help of Amanda 
and Jane Moore, had finished the elaborate wardrobe, 
which Amanda carried to Hollisville in a square box. 
The wardrobe included two new checked homespun 
dresses, of the usual pattern worn in the Dark Corner. 
One of them, though, meant for her Sunday dress until 
she could get her uniform, was pleated in front and had 
large frills on the sleeves and the collar. It was like- 
wise drawn slightly at the waist. She had also a new 
sunbonnet to wear on her trip. Several pairs of white 
stockings were selected from the ones Mrs. Jordan had 
knit the previous winter. Her grandfather was to get 
her a new pair of shoes in Hollisville. 

On the appointed day, Mr. Jordan hitched up the 
gray mule to the “waggin” we have already seen enter 
Hollisville, and they were off. Tom v/as there that 
morning, having come with his cart for his sister Jane. 
He got up into the wagon and sat with Amanda while 
Mr. Jordan was getting ready the two days’ feed for 
the mule. 

“Tom, why don’t you save up an’ go off ter school 
yerseK?” Amanda asked. 


64 THE DAKK COKNER 

shrugged Tom. “I wouldnT go up thar if 
they’d give me the whole dad busted town.” 

Amanda just tittered. And that is all either of 
them said, though they sat there in the wagon side by 
side for full ten minutes. Shortly after that, she was 
gone, and Tom was slashing the hide of his poor ox 
as they plodded sullenly down the road in the opposite 
direction. His sister knew what was the matter; so 
she said nothing. The ox knew something unusual 
was the matter, but he plodded patiently and uncom- 
plainingly on. 

We shall see if this was all because Tom was a fool. 
Already Amanda has arrived at the very fountain head 
of “hifalutin notions.” 


CHAPTER IX 

If that night the great Professor spent at his home 
out in the Dark Corner of Pee Dee, Ole Man Bill 
Jordan was “tickled to death,” as they say in these 
modern days, it would take a far stronger expression to 
give an adequate idea of his impressions now after his 
visit to Hollisville. The Hollisville Collegiate Mili- 
tary Institute, Professor Jefferson Marquinius Til- 
son President, you must understand, was flourishing. 
Since the afternoon the new Professor got off the train, 
six weeks before, pupils had been coming in. Indeed, 
why not? Circulars, announcements, bulletins, cata- 
logues had been distributed broadcast o’er the land; 
advertisements had been running regularly in the 
Methodist, Baptist, Presbyterian papers, and in the 
county papers of several counties; students, both boys 
and girls, had been going hither and thither during 
the summer months, dressed in gay and captivating 
uniforms, and bright blue caps displaying the letters 
H. C. M. I. wrought in gaudy gold. And if all these 
did not avail, there was Professor Jefferson Marquinius 
Tilson himself, arrayed in his every-day suit with 
Prince Albert coat, kid gloves, and silk hat, or be- 
decked in his regimentals, a suit of blue with big brass 
buttons, gold cords, and plumed chapeau. He went 


THE DARK CORNER 65 

out into the highways and byways and compelled them 
to come. The feast was ready; there must be guests. 

And they came. They might come, you know, any 
time of the day or the month or the year. They were 
always welcomed with open arms, and an open purse. 
Their previous schooling was an imknown quantity, 
and the quality was of no concern; no embarrassing 
questions were asked. They were speedily enrolled and 
the new number, with sufficient allowances for \:hose 
who were expected or who might come in unexpected, 
printed upon the circulars and corrected in the news- 
paper advertisements. The “students” were dis- 
tributed over as many counties as possible; and the 
facts — and the figures — duly advertised; for, said the 
President, “Business is business.” But one or two 
things were more important even than enrollment. 
One was the payment for the first month or quarter or 
term, according to the amount of money the students 
had with them. Another was to get dressed out in the 
uniform — for which they paid the Professor. Then 
with what money they had left they bought books — 
those which the Professor happened to have on hand, 
and he usually happened to have on hand those which, 
being out of use elsewhere, were bought at a bargain 
from the publishers. The “students” bought these 
books — at the regular price — and were proud to do it, 
for whenever they got a new book it meant advance- 
ment, and the higher the price of a book, the higher 
was considered the advancement. 

Many varieties of beings came to be enrolled, be- 
decked in the gay and captivating uniform, and duly 
and ceremoniously “finished off.” 

Sam Hubbard arrived one day from Buckstown. He 
W’ore a pair of close-fitting checked trousers, a gray 
cutaway coat, with a fancy colored vest, a pair of 
bright tan shoes, red socks, a beautifully twisted sandy 
moustache, and a dented, bandless derby hat set on the 
side of his stunning curly head. There was a two and 
a half cent cigar stuck in his mouth at an angle of 
about sixty degrees, and when the boys gathered around 
him on the playground, he told them stories of his 
former achievements. 


66 THE DAKK COENER 

Sam was not quite sure what studies he would take 
up, but he had come to prepare himself to be a lawyer. 
After spending several days visiting around the various 
classes so as to see exactly which ones were best 
adapted to his particular tastes and requirements, he 
decided that he would devote himself exclusively to the 
development of his oratorical powers. By the end of 
a week he found that he knew enough about that, 
especially since there were too many small boys in the 
class and he had to memorize selections, which might 
interfere with a more rational exercise of his reasoning 
faculties. Moreover, it occurred to him that incidental 
to the practice of law, he would need to be a man of 
broad culture. He decided to leave off the study of 
practical oratory and take up studies in the Latin 
language and literature. By the time he got hold of 
the great principles of the Latin language and litera- 
ture as taught in the H. C. M. I., namely, that mensa 
means a table and that mensae means anything of or 
about, with, from, in, by, to, or for a table, as well as 
the whole tribe of tables, Sam concluded he knew 
enough about tables and was sufficiently equipped in 
the Latin language and literature to win his way in 
the world of culture. But he wanted to be versed also 
in Greek, so he entered the Greek class. He learned 
the alphabet down to Jcappa, when he realized that he 
ought to be a man of science; so concluding that he 
had mastered enough Greek, he took up the study of 
physiology. He made such progress in this that in 
ten days’ time he had learned the number of bones 
in the human body and had even memorized two or 
three of their names. But he was not satisfied with 
knowing merely language, literature, and science. All 
knowledge must be his province. The world of com- 
merce and manufacture alone awaited to be mastered. 
To this end, he dropped everything else and began to 
devote himself to the art and science of book-keeping. 
But, alas ! alas ! Even Hapoleon had his Waterloo ! Sam 
made the mistake of his life; he started in at the 
wrong end of the line. If he wanted to become an 
authority on great industrial and commercial matters, 
he ought to have started out by running for the office 


THE BARK CORKER 

of State Treasurer or Comptroller of the Currency, or 
at least by editing a daily newspaper. He had not 
been pursuing this business course a week before Patti- 
son, the Professor of Commerce, informed him that 
he could not attain the highest honors in that depart- 
ment unless he would learn the multiplication table. 
That, of course, was out of the question; a man of his 
dignity and station in society could not afford to enter 
the primary arithmetic class. 

But think you not, though defeated once, the heroic 
spirit of Sam was conquered. He took two or three 
days off for reflection, for prayer and meditation. At 
the end of this time, he turned up one morning with 
a solemn expression on his noble countenance. The 
fancy colored vest was nowhere to be seen, the cut- 
away coat was buttoned in front, the derby hat sat 
straight upon his head, and his tan shoes had been 
blacked. All these years, he said, the Divine call to 
preach the Gospel had been ringing in the ears of his 
soul, and now he could resist it no longer. He would 
henceforth teach and preach. To this end he set about 
studying psychology, pedagogy, and theology. 

Now it chanced that the great Tilson himself was 
the ^^professor” of these branches; hence, in about 
three months, being always pfompt and regular in the 
payment of his tuition and board, and having then 
no more money, Sam was duly graduated from the 
H. C. M. I. and entered immediately upon a career of 
teaching and preaching in the county of Pee Dee. 

A year or two later, a Mr. Hereford, a young pro- 
fessor in Yale University, was in the lower part of 
Pee Dee, studying forestry. There he met a young 
man, ^‘Professor Hubbard’’ they called him, who went 
out into the woods with him. This “Professor Hub- 
bard” seemed to know a good deal about the trees of 
the forest, where, though the Yale professor did not 
know it, he had been brought up as an axeman. Mr. 
Hereford suggested to this young man that he go to 
Yale and take a course in forestry. With great dignity, 
and with some indignation. Professor Sam replied, 
“Why, sir, I thank you. But that would be a reflection 
upon my alma mater.” 


68 THE DAKK COKNEK 

But let us return to Professor Jefferson Marquinius 
Tilson and his visitor. 

The Professor took his cane, always an important 
and impressive part of his personality, and started 
around with his guest to show him the “dormitories.” 

Now, the picture of “Students^ Manse” shown on 
the front cover of the catalogue of the Hollisville Col- 
legiate Military Institute, was, to be accurate, an exact 
reproduction of a photograph of what was going to be. 
To get an idea of what it really was, just imagine two 
or three shackly bam-like buildings rolled up against 
each other and the angles inclosed with rough, un- 
painted, unplaned planks, and you have it. The main 
building was a two-story frame structure of, what we 
might call, a unique pattern; that is, if it had any 
pattern, or style of architecture. Some things, just 
as some people, manage to rock along in this world of 
ours without any style. Among these must be num- 
bered a village school house and a boarding house. 
“Students^ Manse” was a cross between the two, and 
it inherited from both parents. Whatever it was, 
though, and however it looked in reality. Ole Man Bill 
Jordan was all sorts of a liar if he did not think the 
H. C. M. I. a “mazin^ consarn” and the Professor a 
“mazin’ ejjicator.” 

What matter to him if everything that was going 
to be was not already? The elegant building with the 
colonnade and the flag-pole and the grass plots and the 
fountains and the cannons, which the Professor showed 
him in the catalogue — what matter that these were not 
actually there as in the picture? Had he lived in the 
solitudes of the forest all his years without developing 
an imagination ? Why, he saw the very spot of ground 
where it was to be built. Even some of the bricks were 
pointed out to him, with which the building was to be 
erected, as soon as the builders, the contractors, the 
mechanics, and architects should arrive from Ashe- 
ville, where they were putting up a somewhat similar 
building for George Vanderbuilt. As to the wonderful 
thoroughness of the teaching, and the comprehensive- 
ness of the course of study, added to the fact, as adver- 
tised in all the circulars and announcements, that 


THE DARK CORNER 69 

*^eacE professor^’ was a ^'specialist in his line,” that was 
one of the most impressive things that he had ever 
heard of. Of course, besides all these things which 
were going to be, he saw wonders enough right there 
in the reality. Moving about through the rough 
patched-up building, through dingy, dirty corridors, 
and up and down rickety stairs, Tilson acting as guide 
and spieler, they came at length to the top of the 
stairs leading up to where the boys roomed. A con- 
fusion of sounds met their ears. Tilson had sent one 
of the boys through the rooms to let all know that the 
Professor and a visitor were coming and that they 
would be expected to appear at work. Through a partly 
opened door some twenty or thirty feet away, a tall, 
fierce-looking boy could be seen gritting his teeth, his 
fist doubled up, and his arm raised in the attitude of 
striking a blow, declaring in a terrible voice, “Sir, we 
must fight.” 

Ole Man Bill J ordan’s cob-pipe fell from his mouth, 
and his hat flew off — probably because his hair stood 
on end — as he rushed forward with great excitement. 
Bounding breathlessly through the door, he found a 
calm-faced boy standing alone in the middle of the 
room. 

“Whar is he? How^d he git out?” exclaimed the 
old man. 

Tilson arrived a moment later to explain that the 
boy had not been fighting, but practising his speech. 

“Wal, ril be dad smashed!” was all the old man 
could say, and that seemed to express very adequately 
his appearance as he stood there with open mouth, 
staring all around. He calmly took his pipe and hat, 
which Tilson had picked up, and resumed his walk. 
Neither Tilson nor the boy know yet whether the old 
man rushed in to prevent a fight, to witness it, or to 
take part in it. 

Passing down the corridor, they heard from one 
room, in mighty tones and maddening cadences, 

“The mutfied drum’s sad roll has beat 
The soldier’s last tattoo.” 


70 THE DARK CORNER 

Opening another door, they heard three boys in 
•unison pumping out, with three frantic gestures to 
each word: 

^‘Black and smoking ruins mark the places which 
had been the habitations of her children.” 

And still further down, they heard great roars of 
eloquence, 

‘^But Linden saw another sight. 

When the drum beat at dead of night.” 

‘Tm a liar eBn they ainT speakin’ mighty pow’ful 
ternight,” observed the old mam “Whut’s hit all 
erbout ?” 

“Oh, they do that every night,” answered Tilson. 
“That is a part of their study. We teach them elocu- 
tion and declamation.” 

The old man walked along in silence. He did not 
want to expose his ignorance. 

“Whut’s them'f^ he finally asked, his curiosity get- 
ting the better of his pride. 

“Why, you see,” explained the Professor, with no 
sign of impatience, for he delighted to give instruc- 
tion, “we teach them how to make speeches; that is, 
the boys, you understand; we teach the girls to recite. 
The boys study declamation and the girls study elocu- 
tion.” And the Professor looked around with an air 
of “That ought to be plain enough and wonderful 
enough for anybody.” 

And it was; wonderful enough, anyway. 

After a while, as they walked farther down the hall 
to where some of the girls roomed and heard the 
piteous heartrending cries of “Curfew shall not ring 
to-night,” and “Lasca was dead!” under some girls’ 
murderous lashes, the old man asked meditatively, 

“What is that ar thing, Perfesser, you ’low you 
teach the gals?” 

“You mean elocution?” asked Tilson. 

“Yas’r — hellcution. That -wuz what them ar boys 
wuz doin’ back yonder, wan’t hit? hell-cutin’ ?” 


THE DARK CORNER 11 

^^No. They were declaiming. The girls study elocu- 
tion.” 

With a he received this as information; 

then walked on until they had got back to the parlor, 
when Tilson was in the midst of a description of some 
other marvel. 

^‘Wal, do you ’low fer Mandy ter study that ar hell- 
cutin’ ?” 

^‘Do you wish her to study it?” 

‘^Wal, Perfesser, I reckin I better leave them thar 
particklers ter you. I reckin, though, she would do 
pow’ful fine in hit. She’s somewhut uv er speaker 
already. Yit I ain’t heerd her speak quite so pow’ful 
ez them gals you got upstairs. I reckin’, though, hit’s 
cause she ain’t never studied none er that ar hell- 
cutin.” 

It was soon arranged that Amanda should take elo- 
cution; and Ole Man Bill Jordan paid over to Tilson 
his last remaining twenty dollars for her tuition in this 
‘‘special study.” All the girls took what was termed 
elocution. Those paid for it who would and were not 
likely to find out that the others did not. 

But it was tlie next day, when Mr. Jordan saw the 
H. C. M. I. in actual operation, that he was so over- 
come with wonder that he sat down on the steps and de- 
clared, “Wal, sir, I’m er liar ef’n I ever heerd tell er 
sech ’mazin’ things in all my bawn days.” 

When he and the Professor reached the school house, 
they beheld crowds of children, scattered all over the 
grounds, on the porch, in the various rooms, under 
the house, up trees, anywhere, everywhere, all chatter- 
ing, romping, quarreling, laughing, yelling; with 
their books and slates, bags, buckets, some with flowers 
for their teachers, others with all sorts of toys and 
playthings. There was a preponderance of tops. Play- 
things, you know, break out in school like contagious 
diseases. If one boy contracts a well-developed case 
of tops, it is not long before there is a raging epidemic 
of tops. 

All of a sudden, in the midst of the great noise and 
confusion, two boys stepped out of the building, each 
carrying a tremendous drum, upon which he began to 


n THE DARK CORNER 

pound with all his might. There was nothing that 
sounded like martial music in it; there was no time, 
no unison, no cadence or suggestion of a step; just a 
noise loud enough to be heard above the din. Every 
living child on the place scampered into line, though 
none stopped talking, quarreling, or hollering. And 
as the big drums went noising away, without time or 
measure, the children each in his own step began to 
crowd into the house. It was against the rules to talk 
in line. This was probably the reason for having the 
drums, to drown it out, like certain brass bands whose 
players manage to escape hanging by having a big 
drum to drown out the discordant sounds of the other 
instruments. 

Old Man Bill Jordan watched all this with wide open 
mouth, and thought it was all very grand. Inside, 
Tilson showed him how they opened the school with 
prayer and a song, and pointed out to him the proudly 
strutting boy with the red sash wrapped around him 
and his cap on in the house. The old man’s mouth opened 
wider than ever as he contemplated this majestic 
functionary, while the Professor, calling him the 
Officer of the Day, explained his duties. In a little 
while, the recitations began. The Professor’s classes 
were excused because he had to show a visitor around. 
Miss Hall and Miss Anderson had drills, songs, and 
recitations in the hall all the morning, in preparation 
for a coming entertainment. After passing through 
all the class-rooms and hearing the Professor tell about 
what marvelous things the children were learning, in- 
cluding mathematics and physiology, geology, orthog- 
raphy, ancient and modern languages, chirography, 
grammar, and other wonders, the visitor was seated in 
the hall, where he experienced great delight watching 
the drills and listening to the songs and recitations. 
The recitations interested him especially. 

^‘Perfesser, is Mandy to speak up thar with them?” 

*^Yes, sir,” answered Tilson. 

‘^Wal, when is she gwi practise her piece?” 

*^Why, I think I will try her now if she knows a 
piece.” 

^^She knows er piece,” said Mr. J ordan. 


THE DABK COBNER 1 $ 

‘^Mandy” was sent for and told to ‘^say her piece.” 
She was very shy, but without hesitation went up on 
the sta^e. The other boys and girls took seats; the 
two ladies stood aside, Tilson, Mr. Jordan, and 
all the rest, including the children reciting a geog- 
raphy lesson at the other end of the hall, looking on 
and listening, while Amanda recited in a nasal sing- 
song drawl: 

My life is like the summer rose. 

That opens to the morning sky; 

But ere the shades of evening close. 

Is scattered on the ground to die I 
Yet on the rose’s humble bed 
The sweetest dews of night are shed. 

As though she wept such waste to see. 

But none shall weep a tear for me I 

My life is like the autumn leaf. 

That trembles in the moon’s pale ray; 

Its hold is frail — its date is brief. 

Bestless — and soon to pass away! 

Yet, ere that leaf shall fall and fade. 

The parent tree will mourn its shade. 

The winds bewail the leafless tree — 

But none shall breathe a sigh for me! 

Miss Hall, who with a baton in her hand stood be- 
side the piano, half amused, haK chagrined, watching 
the girl and watching the other children to keep them 
from laughing aloud, might have beat time for the 
recitation without once having to hasten or retard, 
for Amanda’s tempo was unvarying four-four meas- 
ure, and she never missed a note. 

The children thoroughly enjoyed this performance 
in spite of the fact that Miss Hall motioned her baton 
at them several times, and looked so sternly at them 
that they had to put up their hands and handkerchiefs 
and books in order to laugh. Mr. J ordan so thoroughly 
enjoyed it that he did not notice the effect on any- 
body else, although he looked at Tilson every now and 
then as if to say, ^^see there! what’d I tell you!” He 


n THE DAEK COENER 

considered it a great success, and when Tilson prom- 
ised that Mandy should say that piece at the coming 
entertainment, he was so overjoyed that he exclaimed, 
^T’m er liar ef’n I don’t wish the Ole Oman wuz hyuh 
ter see hit.” 

The old man started for home that afternoon in- 
toxicated with wonder. He felt good all over for hav- 
ing found such an institution for his ‘%al” to finish 
off in, and he thanked God for sending him such an 
amazing man as Professor Tilson. 

“That ar dad smashed Tom Moore! the idee er his 
cut’n his shines roun’ Mandy! Go ’long thar, Jake” — 
this to his gray mule — “Pm a liar ef’n she’s gwi marry 
no sich dad smashed country clodhopper as that ar — 
Go ’long, I tell you, Jake.” 

So musing, he wobbled on through the sand and the 
savannahs, he and Jake, his gray mule, to his home in 
the Dark Corner. 


CHAPTER X 

Jimp’s pet abomination at Hollisville was this fre- 
quently recurring “entertainment” — ^with the accent on 
the “ment” — “this sash and tambourine education,” as 
he termed it ; but one would not think so to watch him 
assisting with the preparations. “I don’t know what 
to do about this business,” his journal explains. “Or, 
if I do, I don’t know how to do it. When she orders 
the pupils to do a thing, I notice they go and do it. 
When she just looks at me and smiles, hang it! I 
notice I go and do it.” 

“She,” of course, refers to Miss Hall. A few days 
later this was added to the above entry: 

“I suppose, though, this particular affair is not really 
so bad in itself — only, they oughtn’t to call it school.” 

About one-third of the school was to take some 
special part in this “entertainment,” and this one- 
third was daily and hourly practising its part. In 
theory, the other two-thirds went on with its regular 
work, though the teachers had no time to give to it. 
When the pupils who were to take part in the perfor- 


THE DAEK COENEK Yo 

mance were not actually engaged in rehearsal, they 
were supposed to attend their classes — of course, merely 
as spectators; they could not be expected to prepare 
any lessons during the weeks of preparation for the 
great event. 

^ Aileen Hall was the general manager, and so enthu- 
siastic was she and so capable of imparting her enthu- 
siasm to others, that, what with her wand drills, 
cantatas, symbolic tableaux, recitations, opening and 
closing choruses, and the making of costumes, she 
monopolized the interest of the whole school. Miss 
Anderson vigorously played the piano during the pro- 
longed and persistent rehearsals. The hall, where 
these rehearsals went constantly on, during the school 
hours, was situated in the centre of the building, with 
thin folding doors separating it from the recitation 
room. The lower end of the hall itself was used for 
classes. The etfect of the ^^sash and tambourine educa- 
tion” upon the regular school work can, therefore, be 
imagined. 

But do not suppose that those thus close to the 
storm-centre of the noise were alone privileged to know 
that something was about tO' happen. Was not every 
mother in the town of Hollisville and the surrounding 
country worried and fretted to get Lucy’s or Alice’s 
or Martha’s or Lillian’s or little Tom’s costume ready 
in time and according to pattern? Or if not worried 
and fretted for this, then mad as blue blazes because 
they were not called upon to worry and fret, Lucy or 
Martha or little Tom having been outrageously left 
off of the program altogether, owing to the spite and 
partiality of the teacher? 

At last the expected night came. Jim went as usual 
with Aileen. But he did not go home with her that 
night. Listen, and I’ll tell you why. 

While the girls and boys were gathering in the side 
room, next the stage, where the groups were to be 
formed for the drills, and while seats around the stage 
were being assigned to those who were to recite, Jim 
saw something which caused him to stop suddenly 
and look with astonishment. Miss Anderson, upon the 
direction of Tilson, was leading a timid, frightened- 


76 THE HAKK COKHER 

looking girl to a seat in the corner of the stage. She 
was oddly dressed — oddly enough indeed for that occa- 
sion. She wore a checked homespun frock, with crude 
shapeless frills on the collar and sleeves. The dress 
reached not quite to her ankles, and rough white knit 
stockings were clearly visible above a pair of coarse 
shoes. Jim walked up nearer and recognized the coun- 
try girl, Amanda, v/ho had come about a week before 
in the shackly little wagon with the gray mule. 

Seeing Aileen and Miss Anderson alone at the oppo- 
site end of the stage, he went over and asked them why 
she was there. 

^^Why, haven’t you heard?” said Aileen. ^’The Pro- 
fessor is going to have her recite, ‘My Life is Like a 
Summer Rose, That Opens to the Morning Sky.’ ” 

And Aileen, in merriment, mimicked the sing-song 
way Amanda had recited the poem on her first night 
at Hollisville. J im did not laugh. He thought Aileen 
very beautiful and very charming, but he looked grave 
while she went on: 

“Then we are going to dress her up in her uniform 
suit, fix her hair pretty, and I’m going to teach her 
how to recite the same piece, so at the next entertain- 
ment, three weeks from now, we can show the vast im- 
provement she has made. Don’t you think that will 
be fine? The dress is already made.” 

Jim continued to look grave. His brow clouded, 
and a slight flush came to his cheeks; but he looked 
away so Aileen could not see his face. He merely 
said, and abstractedly as if speaking to himself, “So 
we are going to exhibit this specimen from the back- 
woods,” and walked thoughtfully away. 

“What’s the matter with him, Katharine?” asked 
Aileen, in an injured tone, when Jim had gone. 

Miss Anderson had stood by silently. She had agreed 
to the exhibition of “this specimen from the . back- 
woods,” but she had given little thought to it. There 
was something in Jim’s tone and manner now which 
caused her to doubt. 

“Perhaps he thinks,” said she, expressing what she 
herself began to think, “that we are not doing the poor 
girl exactly right.” 


THE DAKK COENER 77 

idea, Katharine!” said Aileen. “She won^t 
mind. You know she won’t. Lots of people say our 
school is not adapted to country girls, and the Pro- 
fessor wants to show them an example of how it im- 
proves them. You* know the girl will be immensely 
improved after she has been here a few weeks and be- 
gins to wear her new clothes and we teach her to 
recite. You know she will.” 

In a few minutes the “entertainment' began. I had 
thought to describe it, but it cannot be done. Do not 
think, though, just because Jim, in theory, sought to 
disparage and discourage these performances, that 
they were not pretty sights to behold, or that they did 
not successfully entertain the vast audiences who came 
to them to be entertained. 

The opening chorus by the school was sung with a 
will while Jim, — yes, Jim, for Aileen would take no re- 
fusal — stood up before them and beat time with a 
baton. The broken handle of an old feather duster 
kindly performed the office of baton. Then Jim an- 
nounced the numbers on the program. Professor 
Jefferson Marquinius was there, and he was the pre- 
siding officer as well as the presiding genius of the 
occasion. He sat in the centre of the stage, even 
during the drills, being perched in a large arm-chair 
just in front, so that people had to crane their necks 
to see around him. But such a purely clerical duty 
as reading the names on the program, that was 
assigned to a subordinate. 

The audience applauded everything, but one number 
on the program seemed to make an especially favorable 
impression. This was a declamation in concert by 
Professor J. Marquinius’s own declamation class. Six- 
teen boys, sixteen powerful pairs of lungs, and sixteen 
supple pairs of arms held the audience spellboimd. 
Ed Oldham alone out of the vast audience saw any- 
thing to laugh at. 

Tilson himself stood up in front of the boys, thun- 
dered out the speech and made the gestures with them, 
in order to show how he taught the boys to become 
orators. Incidentally he was able to show some of the 
wonderful results he had obtained. In future years^. 


'TS THE DAEK COENEB 

when we shall have perfected a combination of the 
phonograph and the kinetoscope such truly artistic 
performances can be preserved and reproduced. Now 
it is impossible. The professional stage could not 
show it to us because the fundamental element of 
moral earnestness would be lacking. But possibly, 
some vague idea of the great performance might be 
got from noting a few of the principal gestures. 

Sir (both arms outstretched) — the war (right arm 
pointing to the war) — must (both hands grasping 
chest) — go on (both arms extended with quickness and 
force straight to the front, indicating the speed as 
well as the direction the war must take in going on). 
— We (both hands drawn in to the body and bent at the 
wrists, the fingers extended and pressing against the 
sides of the chest, to show where “we” are) — must 
■fight (both fists clenc.*ed ready for the fight) — it (right 
hand extended at an angle with palm open, indicating 
where “it” is) — through (violent thrust of the body 
forward, right foot stamping, and a lunge of the right 
arm, forefinger extended, the others closed, to repre- 
sent piercing “through” something). — And (both palms 
open and arms extended, probably in anticipation of 
another flight) — if the war (again pointing to the 
“war”) — must (same gesture as before) — go on (indi- 
cating again where and how it is going) — why put off 
(a violent wave of the left arm towards the horizon 
to where it is proposed to put it oft) — longer (a stretch 
of the right arm to its full length, forefinger pointing 
and the body leaning slightly in the same direction 
to make it “longer”) — the declaration (great sweep of 
both arms aptly illustrating a declaration) — of inde- 
pendence (the head thrown back, the body erect, the 
feet joined at the heels at an angle of forty-five de- 
grees, the hands by the side, palms open to the front, 
little fingers in rear of the seams of the trousers — 
a perfect representation of “independence.”) 

And so on to the close of the famous speech. It 
evoked loud and continued applause from the audience ; 
groans and execrations from the ghosts of Daniel 
Webster and John Adams. Ed Oldham gave exhibi- 
tions of the speech all over town the next day. 


THE DAEK CORNER 79 

During all the performances, Jim sat thoughtfully 
on one side of the stage. Aileen and Miss Anderson 
thought they detected a troubled look on his face. 
Something seemed to have taken away all his mirth, 
which had so brightened up the dull rehearsals during 
the past two weeks. He announced the numbers on 
the program in a perfunctory manner, and then sat 
quietly and abstractedly, scarcely looking at the drills 
or listening to the recitations. 

As the evening progressed, he looked out over the 
audience, and at those seated around the stage, and 
then back into himself. Aileen sat opposite him. He 
had never seen her so beautiful. She was dressed in 
a simple gown of pale blue organdie. Her complexion 
never seemed fairer, her blue eyes never shone brighter, 
and the radiant smile that lighted up her face as he 
caught these eyes in his own and held them as long as 
he dared, and he dared as long as he could; and her 
hair — what hair! — What divine hair! If indeed it 
was not like the ^^corona around the sun,” it was more 
beautiful and more effective for not being like any- 
thing save itself, a rich crown of wavy coils and ring- 
lets of silken human hair set upon a lovely woman’s 
head. When it is like that, disparage not the splendor 
of it by likening it to anything. Jim’s eyes were not 
turned back into himself so long as he could behold 
this vision. But Aileen moved from one place to 
another. Now she was sitting on the stage, now back 
in the dressing room with the girls, now again moving 
among the mazes of flags and draperies and girls in 
the drills. His eyes wandered farther around, until 
presently they feU upon Amanda, sitting in the corner 
of the stage. He looked at her curious dress, — the 
checked homespun frock, the odd-looking frills, her 
coarse home-made stockings, and her rough shoes with 
brass tips at the toes. Her hair was more unsightly 
than usual, for she had tried to fix it becomingly, 
making it into a hard-packed knot at the back of her 
head with a crude attempt at a yellow bow on the top 
of it. He saw several of the boys and girls frowning 
as they looked tow'ards her, and others he saw glare at 
her, then at each other, and laugh, holding their fans 


80 THE DAKK COKNER 

before their faces. She must notice this. Once he 
thought he detected in her face a look of pain. Her 
brow was slightly wrinl^led, and there was clearly visi- 
ble a nervous twitch about the mouth. And as he 
looked at her, and her great appealing eyes met his, 
he felt she was looking to him to save her from this 
ridicule and humiliation they were about to heap upon 
her. 

Then his thoughts took this turn, “They'? Why, 1 am 
the one reading out the program. She thinks I am re- 
sponsible for it all. And I am partly responsible. Why 
did I not go to Tilson and protest against it ? Why did 
I not refuse to have anything to do with this affair 
unless they left that out Then Jim saw Aileen stand- 
ing in the door opposite him and looking full at him, 
smiling. And he smiled at her, and then at himself 
as he thought “that’s why.” But his face took on a 
grave look again. He could not understand Aileen. 
Why was she going to permit this? She who was all 
gentleness and consideration? She was, he recalled, 
sometimes austere in dealing with the pupils, and she 
had once explained to him that this was because she 
was so yoimg she had to be, else they would “run over” 
her. But to him she was a veritable child, and a sweet 
child, too, he thought. Why should she be so unlike 
herself in this ? Then he looked across and saw Tilson 
sitting grandly in the most conspicuous place in the 
hall in his magnificent military suit, the gold cords and 
tassels glistening in the light of the big Rochester lamp 
above him, an extra supply of greatness oozing out of 
his noble countenance, an imposing figure. And again 
Jim said to himself — but his face wore not an expres- 
sion of amusement but of disgust — “that’s why.” 

But he was not satisfied with thus fiLxing blame upon 
others. He looked at Amanda, and he thought of what 
Miss Anderson had said about the resemblance to 
Aileen. “That’s absurd, of course,” he thought. He 
looked up at her eyes — big, blue, appealing eyes that 
kept looking at him with a strange stare, which in his 
fancy then he took for reproach. 

He looked now at the program in his hand to see 


THE DARK CORNER 81 

what numbers he had yet to read. Yes, there it was, 
the next number, the last but one, 

‘‘My life is like the summer rose.” 

— By Amanda Gannon Jordan. 

He had not read it before. Suddenly he knit his 
brows, and every muscle of his face was drawn. Some- 
thing had come to him, not clearly, just the faintest, 
dimmest light from the long ago, up through the vista 
of half remembered years. “Amanda!” Was it a 
dream? Was it one of those visions of the imagination 
he and his brother Harry in the days of their childhood 
used to create as they lay in their bed at night? — 
Amanda! — Amy we called her — but mother once told 
me that was not her real name, and her father called 
her Amanda. But I heard some of them speak of his 
people by some other name. What was it? Was it 
Jordan? — Such nonsense! Mr. Jordan said she was not 
his ‘gal,’ but his daughter’s ‘gal’ — still ” 

Here he had to get up to announce the next number. 
He looked around nervously, and met Amanda’s big 
eyes gazing at him. He hesitated. Tilson was still seated 
in front of the stage looking impressively out upon the 
audience, and letting the audience look at him, ab- 
sorbed chiefly in himself. Amanda was in the corner 
behind him and several girls between. Aileen stood 
in the door of the dressing-room with some twenty odd 
girls and boys behind, waiting for the signal to march 
out on the stage; and Jim felt her eyes fixed upon him. 
His knees trembled and he was conscious of an un- 
steadiness in his voice. 

“A small portion of the program will have to he 
omitted,” he said, but he was thinking, “there’s a scar 
on her left temple. She fell on the hot poker. Mama 
said it would never heal, but would be there always.” 

— He continued aloud, 

“We will now have the closing grand march.” 

According to a previous understanding, at the an- 
nouncement of the “grand march,” the stage was to be 
cleared and the music was to begin. The boys and 
girls on the stage began to move. Tilson looked around 


82 THE DAKK COKNEK 

in astonishment. He thought Jim had only mad© a 
mistake. Jim saw him rise up in dignity and grandeur 
and start towards him to see the program. Miss An- 
derson was hesitating about beginning the music, but 
she half understood. “Quick,” said Jim to her excitedly 
under his breath, “Start the music.” Bang! went the 
chord just as Tilson was a few feet away. He was too 
late. Miss Anderson had started playing and the chil- 
dren were marching in the middle of the stage. Tilson 
with his eyes flashing and an angry frown on his face, 
was forced to get back to his seat, else the audience 
would have watched the drill instead of him. Jim, 
himself confused, edged his way around to the opposite 
door. Aileen was too busy with the drill, which was 
in full progress, to say anything to him as he passed 
her except “What have you done? Don’t you see the 
Professor is furious?” 

Her head went up and he saw a proud look which he 
had seen before. He passed on into the side room, 
where he encountered Amanda. She looked at him 
blankly. She understood nothing. 

“Perf esser Thompson, you ain’t gwi have my piece ?” 
she asked. 

He heard just behind him one of the girls whisper 
to another, “Professor Tilson says there’s one more 
piece after the march.” Having gone this far, Jim was 
determined not to be thwarted if he could help it. 

“Miss Amanda,” he said excitedly, “I want you to 
go to your room and copy this program for me.” 

“Now, Perf esser?” she asked. 

“Yes ; right now. Go quickly down to the house and 
copy it for me.” 

She hesitated. 

“Go on,” said Jim, “Pm in a big hurry.” Here he 
opened the door. “Don’t bother about your bonnet. 
I’ll get one of the girls to bring it to you. Go quick, 
just as you are.” 

She took the program and passed out. As she did so, 
he suddenly remembered to look for the scar. He put 
his face close to hers and strained his eyes to see. It 
was not there. He closed the door behind her, just as 
Tilson entered from the stage. 


THE DARK CORNER S3 

‘^Where is that Miss Jordan?” demanded Tilson im- 
periously. 

The girls did not know; they had been watching the 
stage. Jim said nothing; he was carelessly writing on 
the blackboard. 


CHAPTER XI 

^^SiMON, do you believe in the transmigi’ation of the 
soul?” 

It was early the next morning after the entertain- 
ment. A blazing fire flared on the hearth. Jim raised 
himself up in bed, threw back the cover, and sat with 
his arms clasped around his knees. Simon stopped his 
blacking brush for an instant, and was on the point 
of grinning, when his big black eyes met Jim’s solemn 
face. He scratched his head for a moment, then tuck- 
ing it down and suddenly getting busy with his brush, 
observed : 

“Hit’s mos’ time for brekfuss. Mister Jim.” 

“Oh, hang breakfast!” said Jim, impatiently. “Why 
does a man want to be bothered with such a low, grovel- 
ing thing as eating when he can talk philosophy to a 
philosopher? I say, Simon, you are trying to evade. 
Do you believe in the transmigration of the soul?” 

Simon brushed on, but answered presently, somewhat 
dubiously, 

“I don’t speck I does, suh.” 

“Well, why didn’t you say so, then? Now, Simon, 
don’t try to evade me again. You and I have been 
wrestling with great problems since we were boys to- 
gether. Now, listen. You have studied the theory of 
probability, have you not?” 

Simon had not studied the theory of probability; at 
least, not scientifically; at that very moment, however, 
he was figuring on the chances of getting out of that 
room. But, figuring according to his theory of proba- 
bility that the chance was remote, he kept brushing 
very rapidly while he answered, 

“Naws’r.” 


84 THE DAKK COKNER 

“I suppose, then, Simon, you have not computed the 
probability that the soul of a certain distinguished con- 
temporary of Mr. Baalam, for instance, might have 
transmigrated into the body of some hiunan being of 
the present day, have you?” 

“I ain’t know nuffin ’bout Baalam, ’cept dat his mule 
talk back at ’im.” 

“Correct, Simon; eminently correct, except in one 
particular; it was not exactly a mule, but a near kins- 
man; in fact his immediate paternal progenitor, I be- 
lieve, or in modern parlance, a mule’s pa. Now, Simon, 
in spite of your evasiveness a while ago, I have long 
known you for a fearless theologian. So consider this : 
in the course of human events, or rather of superhu- 
man, supernatural, or, let us better say, extra-natural 
events. — You do not object to my coining a word, do 
you ?” 

He paused for a reply. Simon raised no objections; 
he only hurried his shoe-blacking. 

“Well,” Jim continued in the same deliberate man- 
ner, “I say, then, in the course of extra-natural events, 
may it not be that the soul of this aforesaid progeni- 
tor of the mule — ^his pa, you understand — ^has wandered 
around through various forms of animate life until at 
length it has found lodgment in the frame of mortal 
man ?” 

Simon was now taking up his blacking materials, 
and there was a look of relief in his face, for he was 
soon to escape. 

“I see by the light in your face, Simon, that you 
consider it conceivable.” 

Jim looked intently into the fire as Simon arose and 
started to the door. 

“Wait a minute, Simon.” 

“I’s gwi git hit, suh,” said Simon, stopping in the 
middle of the floor. 

“Get what?” asked Jim. 

*T)e water, suh ; I’s cornin’ right back.” 

“Oh, Simon, why can’t you let these vile material 
considerations go hang! We are talking philosophy. 
But as you are about to go again among ordinary mor- 
tals, let me caution you not to repeat this conversation 


THE DARK CORNER 85 

to any of your associates — that is, of course, unless 
they are philosophers like you and me. It might un- 
settle their religious belief; or, worse still, make them 
think less of you and me for profaning the sacred name 
of Baalam — that is, his distinguished contemporary, 
you understand. Eor, you know, he was not only quite 
a prominent character in his day, but he is one of the 
heroes of history. Neither you nor I, Simon, be we 
ever so great as philosophers or as men, can ever hope 
to occupy so distinct a niche in the hall of fame as 
Baalambs ass. He will be remembered, even though his 
renowned soul find temporary lodgment in our poor 
frames, long after you and I, our name and our fame, 
have vanished from the annals of history and the mem- 
ory of man.” 

Simon left the room to get some water. In a few 
minutes he returned. Jim was sitting in the same 
place looking meditatively into the fire. He watched 
Simon pour a bucket of water into a large tin bath- 
tub, then asked, still solemnly, and as if the conversa- 
tion had not been interrupted, 

^‘Do you not agree with me, Simon?” 

^^Gree wid you 'bout whut? I grees dat hit’s ’bout 
time for you ter be git’n up fer brekfuss.” 

“Now, there you go again! Simon; I almost fear you 
have the outward habits of a philosopher without his 
inward instincts. I have been furnishing you with a 
concrete illustration of one of the most widely rejected 
theories of the history of philosophy, one which would 
delight the heart of Pythagoras himself; and yet you 
continue to revel in these purely mundane considera- 
tions of water and breakfast. But here now, lift your 
mind up for just one moment. Do you not suppose 
that something of this nature might have lodged in you 
or me ?” 

“Ain’t nuffin lodge in me dat I knows on.” 

^^Well, in me, then, Simon?” 

Jim sat watching the negro as he silently put the 
towels on the chair near the tub and started out of the 
room again. 

“What do you think, Simon ?” 

“Think ’bout whut?” 


86 


THE DAKK COKNER 

^‘Oh, you are exasperating! Do you think this spirit 
may have lodged in me 

specks some kine er sperrits done lodge in you, 

suh.” 

And Simon was gone. 

Jim chuckled heartily, but as he arose and: went 
slowly to his bath, he mused, ‘‘Eminently correct again, 
Simon; for to be perfectly plain, I have a strong ap- 
prehension that I’m an ass.” 

Jim returned from breakfast without any experience 
calculated to dissipate his belief in the doctrine of the 
transmigration of the soul. Aileen had bowed to him 
distantly as she passed him coming out. Tilson had 
come in, addressed some remark to Mrs. Alston and left 
without seeing him, so far as any one could tell, al- 
though they were face to face. 

In his room again, Jim walked up to his window 
and stood there looking out across the white cotton 
field and the woods beyond. “Why will I be an ass?” 
he was thinking. “They never intended any harm to 
this girl. They would have helped her. Whether they 
will now, after this bunglesome meddling of mine, there 
is no telling. Aileen is not to blame anyway. She 
sides with Tilson. Of course, but I have made her do 
that. Why don’t I attend to my own business, any- 
way ?” 

“De Perfesser want er see you, suh,” said Simon at 
the door. 

“Show the gentleman up,” said Jim without turning 
around. 

Now Simon, as much as he respected all men, that 
is, all white men, had yet his instruments of mentality 
so attuned that it was utterly impossible for him to 
conceive of a greater man than “de Perfesser.” That 
any man, whoever he might be, should stand up boldly 
and treat “de Perfesser’s” order with anything like dis- 
dain or indifference was totally beyond his conception. 
Else he would have been uneasy for his friend and par- 
ticular protege, Mr. Jim. 

“But hit’s de Perfesser, Mr. Jim, whut wants you.” 

“Where is he?” 


87 


THE DAKK CORNER 

^‘He down in de pahluh, suh.” 

^‘Well,” said Jim, turning around, “what^s the mat- 
ter with his legs ? CanThewalk?” 

“Yas’r, he kin walk, but he tell me he want ter sec 
you, suh.” 

Jim walked over by the table, sat down, and, resting 
his chin on his elbow, looked intently at the negro. 

“Simon,” he said, “do you think you would know 
Amy Cannon, the little girl who used to play with us 
at home, if you should see her.” 

“Hat’s ben er long time ergo. Mister Jim,” said 
Simon, scratching his head. “I specks she’s er growed 
up ’oman by dis time. But whut make you think 
erbout her fer?” 

“What do you think she would look like?” 

“Well, you knows, Mr. Jim, she wa’n’t ” 

He stopped and looked at Jim as if he was uncertain 
whether to proceed. Perhaps he recalled the last time 
he had said of Amy what now came to his mind. 

“Go on,” said J im. 

“I specks you knows, Mr. Jim, whut I wuz er fixin’ 
fer ter say. She wa’n’t like de rest uv you, you know.” 

“Who would she be like now, do you think? Would 
she be like Miss Aileen, for instance?” 

“Who, our Miss ’Leen here, suh?” And Simon’s 
mouth stayed open. 

“Yes.” 

“Hat she wouldn’t. Mister Jim. You mus’er done 
fergit erbout her. She wuz fum de po ” 

“Very well,” interrupted Jim. “That will do. The 
Professor wants to see me, does he ?” 

“Yas’r, he tells me ter say he wants you to come 
down in de pahluh.” 

“All right. Tell him I’ll be down there directly.” 

Simon mumbled to himself as he went down the 
stairs, “I dare ter gracious, I don’t know whut de 
matter wid Mr. Jim. I don’t know whedder he gwine 
sho nuff crazy, er whedder he jes git’n mo foolishness 
in him. His mawning he wuz gwine on ’bout some 
sort er flossify er sump’n nur; now he come axin’ me 
’bout dat little po’ white trash gal whut me and him 
bofe done fergit erbout too long ergo ter tawk erbout. 


88 THE DARK CORNER 

Whut she look lak ! Whut in de Lawd’s mussy he want 
er know whut she look lak fer? He sholy ain^t tryin’ 
ter fin’ ’er. En whut would he do wid ’er ef he fin’ ’er ?” 

Tilson was seated at his desk in the parlor smoking 
a cigar when Jim entered. By him, straightening some 
papers, stood Aileen Hall. Jim thought he could de- 
tect a slight flush upon her cheek, but it may have 
been the sunlight which came through the window. He 
was sure, though, that he detected the haughty look 
which was the one thing about her he did not like — 
and yet he did like it, too, somehow. She continued 
to straighten papers or something on the top of the 
desk. She was nervous, too, but this Jim did not de- 
tect. In another part of the room, calm and apparently 
indifferent, sat Amanda. Jim felt ashamed at first to 
look at her. When he did, after sitting down in a chair 
near the desk, and while waiting for Tilson to begin 
the interview, he met the same big eyes which had 
played such a strong part in the proceedings of the 
night before. He did not know whether there was in 
them an appeal, as in his imagination he had seen the 
night before, or just a blank stare. 

^‘This young lady here,” began Tilson at length, with- 
out looking at Jim, “left the school house last night 
before the exercises were over, which I never allow 
any one to do. And what’s more” — he paused an in- 
stant or two to renew the swelling of his mighty but 
agitated chest, and to gather all the sternness and 
pomposity he could summon to his aid — “she left there 
unattended by any gentleman, which was highly im- 
proper and reprehensible, a thing which is never al- 
lowed at this institution. She gives as her excuse that 
you sent her to make a copy of this program. Of 
course, such a thing is ridiculous, but I have sent for 
you, sir, to know the straight of it.” 

He spoke in a harsh, rasping voice, and a frown 
enveloped his imperious countenance. Jim sat quietly 
in his chair, but his face colored slightly and his teeth 
were closed tight. He waited an instant after Tilson 
had finished. When he did speak, he spoke very de- 
liberately. 

“I have no doubt, Mr. Tilson,” he said, “that Miss 


THE DAEK CORNER 89 

Can — Miss Jordan has told yon the straight of it. 
That is not what you want with me.” 

“What’s that ! What’s that !” exclaimed Tilson, turn- 
ing around and looking threateningly. 

Jim looked at Aileen, and he was sure now he saw 
her cheeks flushed with a deep red; and now, too, he 
saw that she was fumbling nervously among the papers 
on the desk. He tried to soften his tone as he con- 
tinued, though he looked Tilson squarely and defiantly 
in the face. 

“I asked Miss Amanda to go and make the copy of 
the program, and I alone am responsible for her leav- 
ing. It was not against any rule of the school, it was 
not against any breach of propriety, not half so much 
a breach of propriety as” — he was going to say, “as 
you were guilty of in wanting to put her up on that 
stage and be an object of ridicule,” but he felt Aileen’s 
eyes looking right through him, and he stopped short 
and looked down. 

“Well, sir,” began Tilson, “I would have you under- 
stand 

“Mr. Tilson,” calmly observed Jim, interrupting him, 
“I can see no good of having an interview like this 
in the presence of the pupil. Excuse Miss Amanda 
and I will discuss the matter with you.” 

“What do you mean by that, sir? Will discuss the 
matter with me, will you, upon condition that I excuse 
her? In the presence of the pupil! I want you to 
understand, sir, that I am the President of this Insti- 
tution. Do you understand, sir?” he thundered; "X 
sir, not you; and I’ll excuse her when I get ready. 
I’ll hold interviews in whatever presence I choose. Do 
you understand, sir?” He leaned over and repeated 
angrily, “Do you understand, sir? In whosever pres- 
ence I choose!*' 

Jim arose, loolced him squarely in the face, and 
calmly, with a smile of scorn — or of amusement; you 
couldn’t tell which to save your life. 

“Yes, sir, I understand you, I believe,” he said qui- 
etly. “You are mistaken as to one person only, so far 
^s I am sure of. You may have interviews, Mr. Tilson, 


90 THE BARK COKNER 

with whomsoever you choose except the — the — the — 
person making these remarks.” 

With which, the person making these remarks 
walked out. 

Tilson stormed and fumed up and down the room, 
declaring, ^‘Something's just got to be done about this 
thing. Did you ever hear such insolence? Why, he 
had the audacity to call me ‘Mister^ Tilson! ‘Mister* 
Tilson! The insolence of it!” 

In truth, this was the most unkindest cut of all, 
if indeed it was not the only cut. Whatever else, by 
word or smile or action, Jim may have meant for cuts, 
nothing entered the thick cuticle of the dignity of Pro- 
fessor Jefferson Marquinius Tilson, President, save the 
“Mister.” 

“Mister Tilson indeed !” he kept repeating. “The in- 
solent upstart! he has been trying ever since he has 
been here to injure this institution, and this is the way 
he tries to do it. But Pll get 

“Professor,” interrupted Aileen in a quiet though agi- 
tated tone, “hadn’t we better let Amanda go now ?” 

Tilson stopped suddenly in his tracks and looked at 
his “confidential secretary” who was standing at the win- 
dow looking out. Her face was still deeply flushed and 
her eyes were moist, but she took care that he should 
not see this. He stood silent for an instant; then 
turned to Amanda and said, “Yes, you may go back 
to your room.” Without another word, he resumed 
his seat and sat looking at Aileen still at the window 
with her back to him. She was not looking into empty 
space entirely; she saw a tall figure walking rapidly up 
the road. 

Amanda, who had been sitting all this time motion- 
less and with the same indifferent stare, arose and 
started out. She understood but little of the meaning 
of the scene before her, but she felt grateful to Pro- 
fessor Thompson for something, she scarcely knew 
what; and for something else, she scarcely knew what, 
she felt a resentment towards Tilson. As for Aileen, 
she viewed her with suspicion; she did not know why. 

“Hold on there a minute !” called Tilson, in the same 
harsh, rasping voice, which now was also hoarse from 


THE DAKK CORNER 91 

his raging and shouting. Amanda stopped and turned 
the stare full upon him. 

^‘Sit down,” he ordered. 

‘^The rules of this institution have been violated. 
Since you have had some practice in copying this pro- 
gram, I’ll have you make me 100 copies of it. You 
may go to your room and begin at once.” 

Without a word, Amanda took the program and left 
the room; and, for the first time since Jim had left, 
Aileen turned her eyes from the window and watched 
the awkward, strange girl from the country. 

‘‘Professor,” she said quietly and now' calmly, after 
Amanda had gone, “it will take that poor girl all day 
of steady waiting to make 100 copies of that program.” 

“I can’t help it,” Tilson replied. “I intend to teach 
that young upstart of a Thompson that he is not run- 
ning this school.” 

He would not look at Aileen. He got up and hur- 
riedly left the room. Aileen again, turned to the win- 
dow. 


CHAPTER XII 

Amanda, reaching her room, lay down on her bed, 
her face buried in her pillow. She heard a light foot- 
step in her room, and presently a soft, gentle hand was 
laid upon her head. 

“Amanda, dear, don’t cry. I know it is hard, but 
every girl has a hard time at first.” 

Amanda turned her face around and stared up at 
Aileen, who had taken a seat upon the edge of the bed, 
with her own eyes moist and red with recent tears. 

“Whose er cryin’?” she said. “Whut is I got ter 
cry ’bout? Ain’t nothin’ hurt me.” 

Some girls would have found relief in weeping. But 
if Amanda knew not tears, she knew not the pangs 
which wring the heart of them. She knew pain; then 
she moaned or cried aloud; she did not weep; there 
was no seared wound of the heart which she could 
bathe in this soft and soothing balm of tears. She is 
to be pitied that she knew not the higher suffering of 


92 THE DARK CORNER 

pang. Pain has its seat in the brain; material nerves 
carry thither sensations which cause screams, groans, 
writhings. Pang is enthroned in the mysterious cham- 
bers of the soul. Its channels of communication are 
invisible, intangible. The place of its abode is not 
known, but its strongest protest, as its sweetest balm, is 
in tears. Amanda had never felt a pang. Pity her ! 

But Aileen did not understand. She sat puzzled, 
her hand resting on the girl’s head. She thought she 
must be suffering too deeply for tears. She would yet 
soothe her. 

“See, I have brought you your new dress. I want 
you to try it on.” 

Amanda looked at the garment, without change of 
expression, apparently without interest. 

“I don’t keer nothin’ ’bout no dress. Whut I got ter 
write them programs for?” 

“Why,” said Aileen, as gently as she could, for her 
voice was slightly agitated, and her color came and 
went, “It was not right for you to leave the hall last 
night without asking the Professor, and he has given 
you this extra duty. It will not be so hard, though, 
as you think.” 

“I done jes whut Perfessor Thompson told me ter do ; 
an’ he wouldn’t er told me ter do anything whut wuzn’t 
right.” 

She paused, still watching Aileen’s face, which 
changed color several times. Amanda noticed it, but 
did not know what it meant, did not know that it 
meant anything. Aileen said nothing, but looked out 
of the window. 

“Now, would he?” Amanda said presently. 

Aileen flushed now a deep red, and her fingers trem- 
bled as she rapidly stroked Amanda’s hair, and sought 
to change the subject. 

“Amanda, you have such soft, silken hair. It would 
be very pretty if you would fix it differently. See, like 
mine.” 

The girl slowly turned her eyes up to the rich crown 
of golden hair which encircled Aileen’s brow like a 
halo, and looked at it with the appearance of more 
thought than she had given anything else. 


93 


THE DAKK CORNER 

ain’t had nobody to show me nothin’.” 

She lowered her eyes, surveying Aileen’s whole form. 
Presently, she added thoughtfully, “’cept onct when I 
wuz er leetle teenchy bit uv er gal.” 

“You ought to say ‘girl,’ Amanda, not ‘gal.’ ” 

“Wal, girl, then. Hit don’t make no diffunce as I 
kin see.” 

Amanda had already begun to notice that while 
some of the boys and girls about her talked as she did, 
most of them did not, and none of the teachers did. 
She had even been trying to adapt her speech to theirs, 
and to some slight extent had succeeded. But this 
morning, however slightly she seemed to feel anything, 
she felt the brimt of injustice, and, to some small de- 
gree at least, the sense of loneliness and neglect; and 
she desperately relapsed into her worst. Aileen spoke 
tenderly and tried to be patient. She determined to 
make what amends she could if she had been wrong in 
her attitude towards this girl. 

“And who was it that showed you how to fix your 
hair when you were a little girl?” 

“I never said she showed me how ter fix my hair. 
I said she showed me ever’ thing, an’ I ain’t had no- 
body sence.” 

“Who did you say she was?” asked Aileen. 

“I never said v/ho she wuz,” answered the girl in 
persistent sullenness. “I don’t know whut her name 
wuz, but she lived over in Wilson, an’ I lived with her 
atter my Maw died till my Paw come en fotch me ter 
Grampaw’s en thar he died soon atterwards. So I never 
went back. But I done fergit her name.” 

Aileen’s memory did not go back to the time she her- 
self had lived in Wilson. During the minute she sat 
silently looking at Amanda, though she was thinking 
of the curious coincidence — Amanda and herself, both 
orphans, taken away from their early homes, possibly 
near each other, and adopted by others. Yet what a 
difference in birth and rearing! Perhaps Amanda’s 
own parents might have been servants or tenants of her 
father. Why not ? 

“How old were you when you left Wilson?” 

“Eive or six. I dunno which.” 


94 THE DAEK COENER 

“And she was good to you?’^ asked Aileen. 

“She was the best woman in the world. She cried 
an’ cried when Paw tuk me erway and made Paw 
promise ter bring me back, but atter he died nobody 
knowed nothin’ ’bout her.” 

“Nobody knew anything about her, Amanda,” said 
Aileen with a slight impatience. 

Amanda merely rolled her eyes again. 

The apparently sullen manner served to repel 
Aileen’s sympathy. She had tried to be tender and 
sympathetic, but Amanda did not seem to want her 
sympathy, or else she could not understand it, which 
appeared more likely to Aileen. “I knew it,” she said 
to herself; “girls like this don’t understand. You can’t 
do anything for them. I feel for them, but they are 
just simply different. That’s all there is to it. I sup- 
pose it is in the blood.” 

She arose to go, but her eyes fell upon the dress 
which lay on the bed; and, while she reasoned it all 
out that she had been justified in her previous conduct 
and that she had now done her duty, she felt a woman’s 
natural inclination to give the poor girl one lesson in 
dressing herself. 

“Let us now try on the dress, and I will help you 
fix your hair,” she said. 

Amanda slowly arose from the bed. She looked at 
the dress, then at Aileen. Next her eyes wandered over 
toward her books r.nd writing materials on the table, 
when the sullen look came again into her face. 

“Have I got to write them programs ?” she asked. 

^‘Those programs, you mean, Amanda,” said Aileen, 
forcing a smile. 

“Wal, have I got to write ’em?” 

Amanda’s stubbornness brought the color to Aileen’s 
cheeks. 

“Yes,” she answered, “the Professor fixed that as 
your punishment. It won’t take you so long, I hope. 
But if you do not finish it to-day, I am sure he will 
let you finish it any time you like next week.” 

Without any change of expression, Amanda went to 
the table, sat down, and picked up her pen. 

“’Tain’t right,” she said, “but if I got to do it, lemme 


THE DAEK COKNER 95 

get at it. I got ter study next week. You kin jes 
leave the dress whar it is. I dunno whether Em gwi 
wear hit anyhow.” 

Aileen flushed scarlet now; she was angry; but she 
quickly left the room without another word. 

In the hall below she came face to face with Jim. 
She had cut him at breakfast that morning, and she 
had taken no notice of him when they met in the par- 
lor later. Clearly he was offended, she thought, for 
now he was only bowing distantly in silence. She had 
no way of knowing that he had been looking for her 
for half an hour. 

“Professor Thompson,” she said trembling, then 
hesitated. 

“Miss Aileen,” he began, trying to look into her 
eyes. His voice trembled slightly, too. “I left perhaps 
too hastily and spoke too harshly. I want to beg your 
pardon for my part in what happened.” 

She made no reply. Nor did she look at him; she 
looked down at a handkerchief she held in her hand. 

“I want to say, too,” added Jim, “that had it not 
been for you I should not have left that poor girl in 

there alone with — a — a I felt sure then you would 

be her protector, a better one, perhaps, than I, who 
might have been too hot-headed.” 

Still she did not look at him, but her head shot up in 
the air and she spoke with some heat. 

“What do you mean, sir ? She did not need any pro- 
tection. Nobody was going to do her any bodily harm; 
and, as for her feelings, if you but knew it, that class 
of people do not have delicate enough feelings to be 
affected as you seem to think they are. Let me pass, 
please.” 

Jim calmly stepped aside, opened the door and bowed. 
She passed out, and was closing the door behind her, 
but Jim saw her hesitate, and he thought he detected 
in her face a sign of softening. 

“Miss Aileen, this is not like you,” he said plead- 
ingly. 

He then saw the hand on the door tremble, and he 
reached for it through the slowly narrowing opening, 
while she heard the whisper. 


96 THE DAKK COKNER 

like my own sweet Little Girl, whom with my 
whole heart I 

But she was gone, and had not looked at him. 

Going straight to her room, Aileen threw herself 
into the arms of Miss Anderson and poured out her 
pent-up feelings in copious tears. 

Jim went to his room and reflected on the trans- 
migration of the soul. 


CHAPTER XIII 

It was quite by accident that one Sunday afternoon 
several weeks afterwards one of the girls remarked to 
Jim that Amanda had told her that when she was a 
small child she had lived in Wilson county with some 
people whose name, she believed, was Thompson. Jim, 
at once, with great excitement, sent the girl to ask 
Amanda to meet him in the parlor. 

“How then is her name Jordan?” he asked himself 
as he went to the parlor. “Amy^s name was Cannon. 
‘Amanda Cannon Jordan P That was the name on the 
program. Who put it there that way ? Did she tell 
anybody what her real name was ?” 

While waiting for her, he paced excitedly up and 
down the floor. Memories crowded upon him, faint 
memories of real things and persons in his early youth, 
but memories more vivid of his dreams and the fan- 
cies of his years. She, Amy, somebody, the little girl 
grown up with him in his inner life — a creation of his 
fancy, it is true, though once she was real; and some- 
where, he felt, somewhere beyond the shadows, she must 
be still, the bright little blue-eyed girl grown into a 
woman as he had grown into a man. “It is all foolish- 
ness, of course,” he thought. “Even Old Simon said 

she was nothing but poor white” But as a few 

days before he had stopped Simon from saying the 
word, he stopped himself from thinking it. He smiled 
in spite of his serious reflections as he recalled that he 
once fought Simon for saying it. 


THE DAEK CORNER 97 

He was looking into the dying embers in the fire- 
place as the door opened. He turned, and there she 
stood, just inside the shadow of the large chimney. 
She did not speak; she just stood there. The blinds 
were closed so he could see her figure but dimly. 

“It is not she,” he said to himself. She was dressed 
in a stylish, well-fitting dress of navy blue, setting off 
a trim and graceful figure. For a moment a very 
slight and dickering blaze, just then kindled on the 
hearth, reflected on her hair a golden glow. 

^‘It is Aileen!” he exclaimed under his breath. ^‘Ah, 
if in truth she were to turn out the little girl I have 
carried in my heart so long!” 

Suddenly a gust of wind on the outside blew one of 
the blinds open, and he saw her face plainly. It was 
not Aileen, but Amanda, yet what a change! What 
did it mean? 

Several of the girls, partly in a spirit of fun, had 
prevailed upon her to put on her new dress. Pleased 
with the effect, they pleaded with her to allow them to 
dress her hair. They had just finished when the mes- 
sage came from Jim to come into the parlor, and they 
had insisted on her going just as she was, awlcward 
though she felt. As she started, one of the girls stuck 
a red rose in her hair. 

Jim was thrown into a spell of amazement from 
which it took him several instants to recover. Amanda 
stood there staring at him. ^Hlas she been acting ?” he 
asked himself, half believing he was in a dream and 
this the creature of his own fancy which he had prayed 
so long to behold. But, at length, recovering himself, 
he advanced close to her, when, high on her temple, 
where, before, her hair had been drawn down over it, 
he saw the little red scar made by the poker. In great 
agitation, he grabbed at her hand. 

^‘Amy,” he exclaimed, ^‘donT you know me?” 

She only stared at him blankly. 

“1 am Jim Thompson, the boy you used to play with 
when you were a little girl over in Wilson at Mrs. 
Thompson's.” 

Still she stared, her form, her face, her mind mo- 


98 THE DARK CORNER 

tionless, emotionless. But lie thought not of this; he 
was in the land of dreams. 

‘^Don’t you remember me, Amy? — ^You know, that 
is what we called you — I am Jim Thompson.” 

At length her lips began to move, her eyes staring, 
her face still blank. 

‘‘Wal! I thought I never wuz gwi see you no 
mo’ ” 

And he awoke from his dream. For the first time he 
noticed that the hand he held in his was coarse and 
rough. 

There she stood before him, after all these years, the 
little girl of his earliest life, whom he had carried in 
his heart, who had growm up in his fancy from day 
to day and from year to year. A beautiful little girl 
he remembered her, and so gentle, so refined and grace- 
ful. There she stood, a dream no longer, a little girl 
no longer; though in her nicely fitting dress, her rich, 
brown, silken hair, her big lustrous blue eyes, in all 
her outward appearance the fulfillment of his dream; 

but “Wal, I thought I never wuz givi see you no 

mo’.” 

That was not she. 


CHAPTER XIV 

“Mus’ sholy be sumpin’ de matter wid Mister Jim. 
He ain’t kyah on no mo’ foolishness when I go in de 
room. But he jes set dar wid he finger on he nose 
en look in de fire.” 

Autumn began to deepen towards winter. During 
the Indian Summer days of early December, the out- 
doors was most inviting, with the golden sun throwing 
its glorious light upon the gray fields, illuminating 
the woods’ coats of many colors and entering the heart 
of man, warming it, feeding it with the rich ripe air, 
making it beat steady and strong; while the sky, soft, 
clear, radiantly blue, seemed to say, ‘T love you.” 

Jim took long walks through the woods alone, medi- 


THE DARK CORKER 99 

tating. Simon had noticed this, too; but neither he 
nor Jim knew that every afternoon, as he started out, 
a pair of blue eyes looked sadly at him through an 
upper story window. 

Often at night when Simon came in to replenish 
Jim’s fire, he would tarry, on one pretext or another. 
Usually few words passed between the two. One night 
Jim turned to him rather suddenly and told him of 
the discovery he had made with respect to Amanda. 
He was much surprised to find Simon not surprised at 
all. 

^‘You say she is?” Simon remarked calmly. “Wal, I 
’lowed when I first seed her dat I is seed her somers 
befo’.’’ 

It is sympathy and affection such as Simon felt, 
standing by the fire, watching his friend, which divines 
troubles of the heart ; and after a long period of silence, 
Jim still looking into the fire, Simon asked, 

^Ts she like whut you speckted. Mister Jim?” 

Jim turned suddenly to the negro and scanned his 
features closely. He saw nothing but a calm and sym- 
pathetic face. 

“Why, no, Simon. But why do you ask me such a 
question as that?” 

Simon waited a full minute before answering. 

“Nuffin, suh. I jis ax yer.” 

“Yes, but what did you jis ax me for?” 

“Huffin’ suh,” said Simon, and he turned around 
and adjusted a stick of wood on the fire. 

“Is she like what you expected, Simon?” 

“I ain’t speckted ter see her no mo’, suh.” 

“But, if you had speckted to see her no mo’, how do 
you think she would have looked?” 

Simon did not answer at first. He was anxious to 
give Mr. Jim his opinion on this subject, but he feared 
the consequences. Einally he spoke, but in an apolo- 
getic tone. 

“She jis ’bout whut I speckted she would be. Mister 
Jim.” 

Jim looked into the fire again thoughtfully. 

“Simon,” he said after a while, “suppose she had 
stayed at our house and been brought up there, do you 


100 THE dare: corner 

think she would have been different ; say, like I am, or 
my sister. Miss Annie, or — or — Miss Aileen?” 

^^Naws^r,” said Simon. 

‘‘But why not, Simon?” 

“Wal, hit’s in de blood. Mister Jim. Spos’n now 
jis fer’n instance, dat I’d stayed dar en ben brought 
up mongst yer, does yer s’pose dat I’d ben like you is, 
er gemmun ’stead uv er nigger?” 

Jim smiled, but did not answer. He ^ made a slight 
motion in his chair, and Simon started slowly out. As 
he got to the door, Jim still looking into the fire, 
said, 

“Good-night, Simon, old fellow, I’m afraid you are 
too profound a philosopher for me.” 

“I specks dat’ll git ’im,” mumbled Simon to himself 
after he had closed the door. “Botherin’ he head ’bout 
dat po’ white gal. Hit’s in de blood, jis lak nigger’s in 
de blood.” 


CHAPTER XV 

Neither the sudden realization of a large inherit- 
ance nor the unexpected recovery of a loved one given 
up for dead could have brought the look of boundless 
joy to old Simon’s face which Jim’s request the next 
day to take a note to Miss Aileen brought. In addition 
to the satisfaction in the quick effect of his illuminat- 
ing exposition of the doctrine that “Hit’s in de blood,” 
Simon was rejoiced that the proudest of all his func- 
tions was restored, which was to act as confidential and 
mysterious messenger between Mr. Jim and Miss 
’Been. This function had been suspended for many 
weeks, another cause for Simon’s sad and sympathetic 
reflections. But the look of joy on his face was mo- 
mentary, being soon succeeded by one of profoundest 
mystery. He wrapped the note carefully in two sepa- 
rate pieces of paper, and tucked it under his vest. In 
case any sudden property of transparency might be 
given to the vest and the coat surrounding it, he put 
on his overcoat, although it was too warm a day in 


THE HAEK CORNEE 101 

Hollisville for such a garment, and buttoned it up from 
top to bottom. And for further safety of his precious 
charge and for deeper secrecy, he kept his hand on the 
outside, pressing tight against the little wad. Thus did 
Simon out-do the Sphinx itself ; for not only was there 
mystery about him, but the mystery was apparent. 

Aileen, on her way to the schoolhouse in company 
with Tilson and Miss Anderson, perceived it, as Simon 
emerged from the house across the street, and she ex- 
cused herself to go back to her room, saying she would 
follow them later. Simon reached her door but a mo- 
ment after she did, and, after looking this way and 
that, and turning his back towards the hall door so that 
no one chancing to enter there could possibly see what 
he was doing, he unbuttoned his overcoat, then his 
other coat, and carefully pulled out the note from un- 
derneath his vest. 

“You better onwrapt hit when you git inside,’’ he 
whispered. 

Aileen smiled and trembled, and did as Simon sug- 
gested. She stepped into her room, closed the door, 
unwrapt the note, pressed it to her lips, then opened it 
and read: 

“My Little Girl, I love you. To-morrow I shall be 
leaving here for good. Shall I be leaving you, too, for 
good — or, rather, for ill? That’s what it would be, for 
me, the rest of my life. 

“To-night, I shdl be in the hall; not on the stage, 
but down in the audience with the pupils, and with my 
whole heart full of love for the loveliest one on the 
stage and the loveliest one in all the world. She will 
wear to-night a pink rose, which I shall send her — 
if she loves me, on the side next her heart; if not, then 
on the other side, and I shall ask her no more for- 
ever.” — There was a footnote to this, reading “not to- 
night, anyway.” 

“And listen again. Little Girl — for I love you — the 
promise you made to Mr. Tilson not to see me any 
more during the school session will not be in force after 
the entertainment to-night, for then vacation begins. 
I shall be — imless I see the pink rose on the other side 


102 THE DAKK CORNER 

— in my class-room ready to walk home with you. I 
shall wait until Simon has extinguished the last light. 
If you are not with me by then, I shall leave. To-mor- 
row I go, forever. — J. C. T.” 

Aileen looked into the glass. Why, must be conjec- 
tured; she had a mysterious air, too; but she smiled. 
Then she kissed the note again and put it into her 
bosom next her fluttering heart. 

The Christmas entertainment was like the others. 
It consisted of songs, drills, tableaux, recitations, in- 
cluding one by Professor Tilson’s own declamation 
class. This class to-night performed Hamlet’s Solilo- 
quy. The great Tilson himself sat on the front of the 
stage and presided oveT* the functions, festivities, and 
performances, and hid some of them from view. The 
people could see him, and that more than repaid them 
for what they could not see. Jim took his seat among 
the pupils in front of the stage, to one side, in as incon- 
spicuous a place as he could find. He had refused to 
have anything to do with the ^^entertainmew^/'* and 
his relations with Tilson had become so strained that 
he had resigned his position. It was a long time before 
he saw Aileen at all; and, when at last she did appear 
in the doorway to direct some portion of a drill, he 
looked eagerly for his pink rose. It was not there. His 
heart sank within him, and he half arose once to leave, 
but some of the pupils were looking at him and he 
knew they would wonder why. He sat down again with 
a sigh. Once later Aileen passed very near him on the 
stage, and he thought she saw him, but she gave no sign 
of recognition. She was to sing a solo, the next to the 
last number on the program. The hope still lingered 
with him, faint though it was, that, after all, she 
might wear the rose then; but something in her man- 
ner, something in the air, in his heart, foreboded the 
worst. Where would she wear it? The ^^entertain- 
menf* seemed to him the longest, most boresome and 
most senseless exhibition he had ever witnessed. 

At length the moment came. Jim’s heart almost 
stopped beating when, just as her song was announced, 
he saw her through the open door, across the stage. 


THE DARK CORNER 103 

She stood amidst a group of admiring girls, adjusting 
the pink rose on her bosom. When she came out, the 
audience did not wait for old man Zeke Woodward’s peg 
leg to fall off the box as a signal; the applause was as 
spontaneous as it was hearty. She wore a dress of 
fluffy white. Her rich golden hair, her bright blue 
eyes, the delicate pink of her fair skin, the lips a rosier 
red than ever, made a vision of loveliness to inspire ap- 
plause; and as she sang in a voice divinely sweet, ‘^Let 
but your eyes. Love, bid my tongue to say What’s in 
my heart. What’s in my heart,” Jim’s own heart beat 
wildly, madly. 

The pink rose ? — It lay just as near the center of her 
heaving bosom as it was possible to pin it. 

It was a clear moonlight night. You have heard that 
in the South the moon shone more beautiful before 
the War. This night was an exception. Never was 
such a moon. The air was crisp, not cold. It was not 
“the bleak December,” for December in HoJlisville is 
not bleak. 

Jim stood at the side door of his class-room. Slowly 
the hall was emptied of the throng of people. His 
heart beat faster and faster as the lights slowly went 
out one by one. 

“Has Tilson suspected something and stayed with 
her?” But no, he saw Tilson go off with Captain and 
Mrs. King; and Miss Anderson had passed with Mrs. 
Alston and “Professor Walter.” 

Where, then, could she be ? 

Simon came in to lock the door. 

“Where is Miss Aileen, Simon?” 

“She done gone, suh. Ain’t you see her? She went 
off wid Miss Anderson en Perfesser Walter.” 

Jim slowly started home alone. Simon stood in the 
doorway sadly shaking his head and muttering some- 
thing about the “cu’us ways o’ women.” The school- 
house was now dark and deserted. As Jim neared the 
corner of the house where he was to turn to go towards 
the street, he saw the shadow of a woman. His heart 
stopped beating. One more step and he stopped sud- 


104 THE HAEK CORNER 

denly. She turned, and the moonlight beamed full 
upon her. The pink rose was pinned over her heart. 
* * * 

It was picked up off the ground a few minutes later, 
crushed and bruised dreadfully. 

“Little Girl,’’ he said, “tell me in the way you were 
to tell me when you should know.” 

Simon came around the corner looking steadily in 
the opposite direction at the moon and at the bright 
stars shining out of the clear blue sky. 

“Simon, you black rascal you!” said Jim, “what are 
you doing here?” 

“Jes lookin’ ter see ef hit gwi snow, suh,” answered 
Simon solemnly, as he walked on very rapidly. Jim 
and Aileen, following behind, heard a chuckle all the 
way home, which, when they got there, Simon seemed 
somehow to have imparted to the big crackling blaze 
they found on the hearth in the parlor. 


CHAPTER XVI 

Such a hustling, such a bustling, such a chattering 
and a merry laughing, such a kissing and a smacking — 
was never seen, I was about to say, but that is not true ; 
it is seen every time a crowd of school girls take a 
train. 

The students of the Hollisville Collegiate Military 
Institute, Professor Jefferson Marquinius Tilson Presi- 
dent, were going home for the Christmas holidays. 
Aileen was going to Glendale, and she was not going 
alone. The Vice-President and Professor of Ancient 
and Modern Languages and English Philology had re- 
signed, and he, too, was going to Glendale. He wanted 
to consult with some lawyers there, friends of his 
father, he said, about the further prosecution of his 
law studies. The President of the H. C. M. I. had 
been delighted to reluctantly accept this resignation^ 
and he was delighted still, for he knew nothing about 
the little occurrence of the night before while Old 
Simon was looking at the moon for symptoms of snow, 
and he was not at the train this morning to be re- 


THE DAKK COKNER 105 

minded that Aileen’s promise to him that she would 
avoid Mr. Thompson had expired. 

Some half dozen girls had escorted Aileen to the 
train and were clinging affectionately to her; and Jim, 
watching her with the rest, was not alone in thinking 
her especially beautiful this morning ; everybody 
thought so, and Jim’s heart swelled with pride and a 
great inward joy. In spite of it all, though, it was with 
sadness that he was shaking the many tender and af- 
fectionate little hands held out to say good-bye to 
him. 

^T’m goin’ to ask my mama to let me stop school if 
you don’t come back,” said one little girl of ten, looking 
at him with a pair of bright black eyes up through a 
sweet face. Jim picked her up in his arms and kissed 
her. Then he turned and mischievously pinched under 
the ribs a twelve-year-old boy, who stood, with his 
hands in his pockets, turning his shoes outward till his 
ankles touched the ground, and grinning from ear to 
ear, his dirty face tilted up at an angle, as he observed, 
‘^Hmph ! I done already quit.” 

When the train rolled up, Aileen began kissing the 
girls good-bye. Jim stood waiting at the car steps to 
help her in, watching her as if he envied every kiss 
and every smile she gave the girls. Now he saw her 
hesitate and look nervously from side to side, chan- 
ging color. The other girls were watching, and out of 
the corner of his eye he saw them exchange glances, 
as Aileen in a sudden tone of desperation, as if she 
had failed to find a way out of it, exclaimed “Good- 
bye, Amanda,” and leaned over to kiss the girl from the 
Dark Corner. 

Amanda stepped back, held out her hand and said in- 
differently, “Good-by, M’am”; then continued to stare 
blankly at the train and at the crowd of girls, as if 
nothing had hapi)ened at all. Nothing had happened 
so far as she v/as concerned. Nobody had kissed her 
since she came to Hollisville. She did not know that 
Miss Hall meant to do it then. But her eyes caught 
Jim’s as his gaze involuntarily slipped from Aileen. 
He smiled at her; and to him, somehow, the stare 
seemed a little softened, just a little less blank. 


106 THE DARK CORNER 

After those on the train had waved their handker- 
chiefs out of the windows till the crowd at the station 
was left out of sight, Jim and Aileen, two supremely 
happy beings, subsided into their seats. 

can’t understand why that Cannon girl doesn’t 
like me,” said Aileen. 

Jim calmly turned his searching eyes upon her, and 
reflected. 

“Why do you love me. Little Girl?” 

She looked up at him, perplexed, not by his words, 
but by the seriousness of his tone and manner. 

“Because you love me,” she replied. 

“Well, don’t you now understand?” he asked, looking 
at her wisely. 

“You think you are a regular Socrates, don’t you?” 

She smiled, and Jim did have a notion that he was a 
sort of Socrates. 

“But I do like Amanda” — she began again very se- 
riously, but broke off, her conscience demanding a 
modification. “At least, she has no reason to think I 
do not like her.” 

She kept her eyes on Jim, expecting a reply. But he 
only looked steadily at the back of the seat in front. 

“Has she any reason for thinking I do not like her ?” 
she asked, a little dubiously now. 

“Yes,” answered Jim, quietly, still looking at the 
back of the seat. 

Aileen colored and protested. 

“I don’t see why. I’m sure I’ve tried to be kind to 
her. In spite of the class of people she comes from, 
I have treated her just as I treat the other girls. But 
girls like that just don’t seem to appreciate things. I 
suppose they do not feel, like girls of better birth. 
Now, you did not notice back there at the station, did 
you? She snubbed me. I meant to kiss her good-bye 
just as I did the other girls and she ” 

Again his calm, searching eyes were upon her, and 
she broke off suddenly. There was tenderness in his 
look; there was love in it; but something else also. 
One might have taken it for amusement, or a feeling 
of triumph. She took it for reproach. 


THE DARK CORNER 107 

^^es, I saw it/’ he said, bobbing his head knowingly 
at the seat in front. “Saw it all.” 

Her eyes fell away, and every sign of protest or de- 
fense left her. 

“Well, I have tried my very best. I suppose I am 
prejudiced against that class of people. I don’t know 
what else it can be. I know you think this is wicked 
in me; and it is wicked, but I just can’t help it. It is 
born in me.” 

The tea-table was set at Mrs. Hall’s when they 
reached there — with dainty little dishes on a dainty 
little table, in a dainty little dining-room. A soft pink 
light shone through a stained glass globe, which, en- 
wreathed with holly and mistletoe and Christmas ber- 
ries, hung just over the table. And Mrs. Hall was 
there — the stateliest, proudest old lady, with the sweet- 
est face and the gentlest ways. She was dressed in 
black, with a gold cameo breastpin at her graceful, 
though wrinkled neck, and the daintiest and most aris- 
tocratic little lace cap crowning her gray-tinted, de- 
voted head. She had reared Aileen. No wonder Aileen 
was so lovely. But Jim envied Mrs. Hall, for she took 
the dearest, sweetest girl in all the world in her arms 
and held her tight, declaring repeatedly, each time 
with two kisses, that she was never going to let her 
leave her again. Then releasing Aileen, she turned and 
greeted Jim in her most gracious manner. She insisted, 
nay, she would take no refusal, he must stay to tea. 
How absurd to do anything else! And Jim himself, 
looking at the dear old lady and at the irresistibly 
lovely girl beside her, smiling and blushing and plead- 
ing with her eyes, thought to himself, “How absurd 
indeed I” 

After tea, Aileen pointed out to him the portraits 
on the walls of the parlor, the hall, and the library. 
Old pieces of furniture, souvenirs of foreign travel, 
heirlooms, prized for the tales they told of triumphs in 
love and war and honorable associations — these she 
showed him with a pride which was simple, graceful, 
and natural. There was no need to boast; there it all 
was. She did not know exactly what blood relation she 


108 THE DAEK COENER 

herself was to those whose portraits she pointed out. 
Her own birth and lineage were, in some quite natural 
way, bound up with the Halls. She knew Mrs. Hall 
was not her own mother, and that she had come into 
the family when she was a very small child, too young 
to remember the circumstances. She had been reared 
so much as Mrs. HalFs own daughter that she never 
at any time had reason to consider that there was any 
difference. Of one thing she felt quite sure, and that 
to her mind was as sufficient as it was all-important; 
that she was as well born as anybody in the State. 

Mrs. Hall gave a reception in honor of Aileen’s com- 
ing home. It was not a “brilliant” reception, nor a 
“swell” one. It was not a “social function.” The so- 
ciety columns of the newspapers said merely that “Mrs. 
Hall entertained in honor of her daughter. Miss Aileen 
Hall, who is at home for the holidays.” Mrs. Hall had 
asked the young woman reporter not to say even this. 
That class of people accustomed to appropriate to 
themselves the term “society people” — though they pro- 
nounce it “sasiety” — was not especially in evidence. 
None, however, were excluded because they belonged to 
this class. The guests were selected wholly without re- 
gard to whether they belonged to the fashionable set, 
to the “upper ten” or any other kind of ten. Mrs. Hall 
was one of those ladies of the best blood and breeding 
whose superiority consisted in her ability to discern 
real worth in people and in her courage to choose her 
friends and guests for what they were and not for 
what, on account of wealth, ancestry, or “social posi- 
tion,” they were supposed to be and might have been. 
It was, therefore, not always “considered” any especial 
honor to be invited to Mrs. HalFs; she was not “ex- 
clusive” enough. Nevertheless those who were invited 
rarely excluded themselves, always delighting to go, 
because they knew they would find there a company of 
accomplished ladies and gentlemen and an atmosphere 
of intellectuality and culture to be found at few 
places in Glendale. Jim found himself in this delight- 
ful company, all the more delightful to him for the 
consciousness that, in spite of having lived from child- 
hood in this attractive society, with numbers of pros- 


THE HARK CORNER 109 

perous and cultivated young men who admired her, 
Aileen had consented to leave all for him. 

Nearly all of the next day the two young lovers spent 
together. In the morning they sat in the library read- 
ing from favorite books, that time they were not just 
looking into each other's eyes. She showed him her 
own books, which were all iliere in a red cherry book- 
case, even from the linen picture primers of her 
nursery days. The books she read when she was a little 
girl were there and those of her later school days. 
Aileen played the piano and they sang together. In the 
afternoon, they went to the country club, where after 
Jim had taken a few lessons in the art and science of 
pretending to play golf, they had tea with some friends 
in the club-rooms. In the evening, they went to the 
theater. 

Sunday morning they went to church, old Trinity 
Church, where Aileen had been going since she was a 
little child. It was a large church, of Gothic style, built 
in the form of a cross with many spires above, pointing 
the way to heaven. And there were pointed arches 
within, that those who would enter the inner sanctuary 
of God must pass under the yoke. It was an old 
church; memories clustered about it; mouldering vines 
clung to it, and mouldering hearts from the flow of 
years and tears. The sunlight was softened by the 
tall, richly tinted glass windows as if by God^s own 
grace and mercy. All this, with the great swelling 
organ and a sweet-voiced chorus of boys and girls, and 
the rich, mellow, sonorous tones of the good rector as 
he read from that most beautiful book, the noblest, the 
sublimest expression of man’s devotion to the Divine 
which the human brain has ever devised, the Book of 
Common Prayer, gave as near an impression of the 
very presence of God and His angels as one can have 
this side of the land of the Blessed. 

In such surroundings Aileen had been brought up. 
Little she knew of any other, and her year and a half 
at Hollisville had been her only experience in living 
out of these, except during the earliest years of her 
childhood about which she remembered now only a 
few dim, shadowy pictures. She had been to the 


110 THE DARK CORNER 

“Young Ladies’ Seminary” at Glendale, where she had 
received what answered for her college education. It 
was when Aileen told him of this that Jim learned 
for the first time what he had allowed to remain a 
mystery with him because of the possible indelicacy of 
asking about it. When Mr. Hall died, Aileen lacked 
two years of completing her course at the seminary. 
Mrs. Hall, being just then in need of the ready money 
with which to defray her expenses, applied for a loan 
to her husband’s cousin, “Jeff” Tilson. She knew 
him but slightly, but since he was the only relative 
either of herself or of Mr. Hall who would likely have 
the money to spare, and since she knew she would be 
able to repay him from the proceeds of her plantation, 
she had no hesitancy in turning to him. Tilson said 
he did not have the money himself, else he would be 
too glad to lend it to her without interest; but in the 
great generosity of his heart he would get it from a 
friend, who, however, would want ten per cent, interest 
on it. Mrs. Hall knew nothing about interest, so it was 
agreed. Neither she nor Aileen ever knew the name 
of the “friend.” When Aileen finished school she de- 
termined to repay this money herself. This was not 
necessary, Mrs. Hall assured her, as the proceeds from 
the plantation would be ample ; but Aileen by this time 
had got the microbe of independence, and insisted on 
getting a position. Again not knowing where else to 
turn, she applied to Tilson, who had been showing her 
some cousinly attentions which warranted her asking 
for advice. In his usual spirit of benevolence he told 
her that, while he had no vacancy in the school which 
she could fill, he was so desirous of assisting her that 
he would create a place for her. He did not tell her 
that the evening before receiving her letter he had 
induced Captain King, the chairman of the Board, to 
persuade him that they ought to have an Episcopalian 
in the school and that they ought to try to get Miss 
Hall to take the position; nor did she learn that after 
getting her letter he cut ten dollars a month off of the 
salary he and Captain King had agreed upon. 

She was nineteen then, an impressionable girl, inex- 
perienced in what are usually termed the “ways of the 


THE DAKK COKNEK 111 

world.” Tilson’s benevolence deserved gratitude and 
she gave it to him in fullest measure. But in addition 
to gratitude, she naturally felt a certain dependence 
in the nearest male relative of the family. And thus 
it was that, knowing herself nothing of schools outside 
of the city, when Tilson told her that the Hollisville 
Collegiate Military Institute was the greatest school 
that there was and the best, and intimated in sundry 
ways that the President of this institution was about 
the greatest teacher if not the greatest man that there 
was, she had nothing to do but to accept it; at least 
tentatively. 

While this new revelation of Tilson’s imposition made 
Jim indignant, he determined that, as it was now 
happily nearing an end, he would say nothing about it. 
“What’s the use now?” he thought. 

Jim did not leave on Monday morning, as he had 
intended. He stayed a day longer, and another. Mrs. 
Hall and all of Aileen’s friends were charmed with him 
and he with them. But at length, concluding that he 
had about finished consulting his father’s lawyer 
friends upon which mission he had come to Glendale, 
he felt that the time had come when he must go. 


CHAPTEK XVII 

Now if for one instant you suppose that Jim was 
supremely happy after this visit to Glendale, or any- 
thing else than supremely miserable, you have never 
had the quite common disease with which that young 
gentleman was afflicted. No matter that he had won 
Aileen, or that in a few weeks, a few months, or a few 
years, he was coming again to take her to be with him 
for always. Months, days, years, weeks — there was no 
distinction; all alike meant only separation, and sepa- 
ration was misery. But he braced himself up and de- 
termined to face the stem realities bravely. 

It was a changed world which met him now. At last 
the prayers of his whole life had been answered, the 
Divine hand having directed him in the choice of a 


112 THE HAKK COENER 

profession and in procuring a helpmeet, who, ever by 
his side, would sustain and inspire and bless him. He 
had received an offer to go into the office of an estab- 
lished lawyer at Wilson Court House, in which he 
could earn his support, and perhaps a little more, 
while prosecuting his studies in the law. After a 
brief vacation at home with his mother and sister he 
would go to the Court House and soon enter upon the 
career for which he was designed. Then he would take 
Aileen with him. 

It was necessary to return to Hollis ville to pack his 
clothes, books, and a few other effects. A number of 
hoys and girls of the school greeted him as he got off 
the train. They had not gone home for the holidays, 
and had no better way of entertaining themselves than 
to come to see the train. As the crowd began to dis- 
perse, Jim saw Amanda Cannon and three other girls 
start off together. Two walked in front, leaving 
another girl and Amanda behind. After a few steps, 
he saw Amanda’s companion join the two in front, and 
the three walk on with their arms around each other, 
leaving Amanda to walk alone. He recalled the scene 
between Aileen and Amanda the last time he was at 
this station, and he watched Amanda walk slowly and 
sullenly on as if the slight put upon her by the girls 
had had no more effect than Aileen’s hesitation about 
kissing her good-bye. “And this is Amy,” he thought 
sadly. “What impossible dreams I had of her!” 

He started on towards the “Manse” himself, think- 
ing of Aileen. But every time he would look ahead he 
would see the figure of Amanda in her Hark Corner 
dress of checked homespun, with her white stockings 
showing above the coarse shoes. Now and then she 
turned and he saw her blank face. 

“She was not a stupid child when she was at our 
house,” he thouglit. “Why is she now? Where has 
all her life gone?” He remembered how he and his 
classmates in college used to lie on the campus grass 
and discuss the effect upon character, of single impres- 
sions, and of general environment. “Ole Simon says 
it is in the blood. Perhaps he is more of a philosopher 
than any of us.” He smiled as this came into his mind. 


THE HAKK COENER 113 

^^But Simon merely guesses, or takes the commonly ac- 
cepted theory. Why not get some facts? What pos- 
sible environment could have changed bright, vivacious 
little Amy into this dull and lifeless Amanda?” 

He hurried his steps till he overtook Amanda. 

^‘Miss Amanda, when are you going home?” 

“I dunno. I ben speckin’ Gran’pa ter come fer me, 
but I don’t reckin he knows whut day ter come.” 

^‘Didn’t you write him?” he asked in surprise. 

^‘He ain’t got nobody now ter read the letter. The 
Perfesser wuz ter sen’ him word to come fer me t’other 
day, but he ain’t never come.” 

It was seven miles from where Mr. Jordan lived to 
the post-office. Every day Amanda stayed at Hollis- 
ville meant more board she would pay. 

“I’m afraid the message never got there,” said Jim. 
“I think we had better make some other arrangements 
for you to get home.” 

Amanda said nothing. They walked on in silence. 
When they reached the front steps, he stopped and 
looked at her pensively for a moment. She stopped 
and stared. 

“Get all your things ready, Amy,” he said, “and 
we’ll start early in the morning. I’m going to get a 
horse and buggy and take you home.” 

It was the first time he had called her “Amy,” and 
his thoughts were of the long ago. She gave no expres- 
sion of surprise or any kind of emotion. She did not 
understand, but she stared at him not differently from 
the way she did nearly every time she saw him. In a 
moment she left him, without a word, and went to her 
room. 


CHAPTER XVIII 

A LONG drive through a dull country with a dull 
girl! — Talk about your acts of heroism! There is no 
danger in it of a quick death as there is in jump- 
ing into a whirlpool to rescue a drowning man, or suck- 
ing poison from a rattlesnake wound. It is just quiet 


114 THE DARK CORNER 

suffering, slowly but painfully deadening the facul- 
ties. 

The one redeeming feature was the weather. That 
was ideal, and the out-doors was inviting. It had 
rained heavily the night before, but now the sky was 
bright blue, and the air was still. It was a little cool 
when they first started, but Jim soon took off his 
overcoat and hung it on the back of the seat; and 
Amanda put her coarse shawl in the foot of the buggy. 
The road is the same we once traveled with far more 
distinguished company. Professor Jefferson Marquinius 
Tilson, President. It is still sandy, lined with broad 
stretches of waste savannahs; here a cultivated field 
with a one or two room hut in the midst of it; there 
a black swamp or a sand hill covered with scrawny 
oaks. 

Jim had not talked much with Amanda before. His 
life since she came had been such a tumultuous one, 
his inner life such a busy one. He had noticed her at 
times in school and at the dinner table; but for more 
reasons than one he had refrained from any attempt to 
draw her out on the subject of her personal life. Now 
he tried to talk with her, not as her teacher but as her 
friend; and his sympathetic nature, stimulated by his 
new experience of love, was especially warm and tender. 
It met with little response in Amanda, that he could 
discern, though her sensibilities, dull as they were, 
were not dead, and she could not but feel the influence 
of his vibrant heart. But she was not accustomed to 
read human love and sympathy in a voice. She was 
not schooled in the language of the silent look, the 
lifting of a brow, the curving of a lip, the opening and 
shutting of a hand. She understood only as one who, 
having a slight acquaintance with a foreign tongue, 
can grasp now and then the meaning of a phrase but 
cannot speak in it. So she had a faint understanding 
of Jim’s interest in her, but she had no way of touching 
her heart with his ; and, knowing the limitations of her 
own speech, she kept silent. Jim, not knowing this, 
like the others who had been thrown with her at Hol- 
lisville, took her simple, unexpressed gratitude for in- 
difference and sullenness. Yet he persisted, determined 


THE HAKK COENEK 115 

to draw her out if possible. He asked her many ques- 
tions about herself, about her grandmother and grand- 
father, and her associates in the country. She spoke 
usually in monosyllables, seldom venturing anything 
in addition to the barest answer to the question asked. 
He tried to recall to her mind the old life at his 
mother’s home. She remembered but very little, though 
she did remember Mrs. Thompson, who was so good to 
her all the time and who cried when she left. She re- 
menibered the big boy, Jim, too, who stayed close by 
her in all their games and who gave her some peaches 
and a rose when she left. 

He did not recall to her how on that morning he 
crawled up into the covered wagon and kissed her on 
the scar the poker had made on her temple ; nor had 
he any idea that that and the fight Jim had with 
Simon for calling her ^^Po’ white trash” were the two 
incidents in her whole life there that she remembered 
most vividly. And when now she smiled — ^he knew 
not why — she was thinking of the kiss. But suddenly 
she frowned, very faintly, for she recalled the cause 
of that fight. She did not remember the time she 
got burnt with the poker, having wondered for many 
years the cause of the scar. She put her finger up to 
it as Jim told her of it, pushing back the brown hair. 

Jim recalled dimly that he had heard his mother 
talking with Wash Cannon about another child whose 
name he did not remember. Once he had seen her 
either at his home or somewhere else. He could see 
her now somewhere back in the shadows. She had long 
curls of yellow hair and carried herself with her head 
so high that the other children said she was “stuck up.” 
But he did not know who this was. Was it Amanda’s 
sister? Yes, she had a sister, she said, but she was 
dead, she supposed. She did not remember anything 
about her. Her grandparents sometimes spoke of her, 
but they knew very little more than she did. 

It was not long before this topic of conversation was 
exhausted and the rest of the way there was little to 
say. Now and then Jim would ask her about the coun- 
try through which they were passing — the swamps, the 


116 THE DAKK COKNEK 

lands, the people. She knew almost nothing about 
them. 

He soon despaired of entertaining her ; and he found 
little entertainment in her, far less than in his own 
silent thoughts, though he thought about her — and one 
other girl. He could not help thinking how delightful 
such a drive as this would have been with that other 
girl for his companion. With such a bright and in- 
teresting companion as Aileen, even a long journey 
through a dull country could not be tedious. He won- 
dered what Aileen would think of this trip of his out 
here with Amanda. She would be interested, he knew, 
and he anticipated his own pleasure in describing it to 
her in a letter he would write that night. 

Noon came. They ate their lunch, stopped a little 
later at one of the huts they passed to give the horse 
feed and rest. Then they drove on. As the sun began 
to sink in the west and they did not come to anything 
Amanda seemed to know about, Jim began to get a 
little uneasy. He inquired of everyone they passed 
concerning the road to Mr. Bill Jordan’s. No one 
^‘ain’t never heerd on ’im.” 

The weather very suddenly changed. The sky be- 
came cloudy and the atmosphere heavy. Jim pressed 
on his horse, but night, too, pressed on, and the threat- 
ening sky. Soon it was quite dark, and the rain had 
begun to fall. He put up the side curtains to the 
buggy and they drew up the oilcloth lap-curtain to 
their chins. It was not long before it was pouring in 
torrents, and the darkness was so dense they could not 
see even the horse in front of them. 

There were no lights anywhere to be seen on the side 
of the road ; they were not passing any houses, and the 
gloom thickened with every step of the fast trotting 
horse. Now they seemed to be going through a dense 
swamp. The horse slowed up of his own accord, and 
they could hear his feet splash in water. Now the 
road had become changed and they felt a jolting, and 
heard a rattling, under the tread of the horse and the 
roll of the wheels. Jim was frightened; they were 
on a bridge, and the water was up over the bridge. 
‘‘Whoa!” he said to the horse, drawing in the reins. 


THE DAEK COENER 117 

“What shall we do. Miss Amanda? What are we 
coming to?” 

“I dunno.” 

It was the same tone of unconcern with which she 
had answered nearly every question Jim had asked 
her. 

“Les’n hit’s a swamp,” she added, after she had 
taken time to turn the matter over in her mind. 

He was almost provoked with her now, and the gloom 
without penetrated into his inner self. Here he was 
in a dreadful plight, and a stupid girl with him ap- 
parently as well satisfied as with any conceivable situ- 
ation. 

“But, Miss Amanda, we can’t cross a bridge like this 
which the water has risen over.” 

“’Tain’t no bridge. Hit’s jest planks put down in the 
road to keep the horse from miring up.” 

He was still uncertain, but this slightly reassured 
him, and after some effort he succeeded in reassuring 
the horse, which moved on with unsteady gait. But 
after they had gone a little piece further, there was a 
sudden splash. The buggy stopped with a jerk, and 
the lines were pulled out of Jim’s hands. He grabbed 
the lines, again exclaiming to the horse, “Gome up 
here ! chi ! chi !” The horse splashed again. Evidently 
something frightful had happened, and they were in 
great danger. Jim could not see and was at a com- 
plete loss to know what was the matter. 

“Jes hoi’ on er minnit!” said Amanda. 

The oilcloth curtain on her side came down, and in 
a moment Jim heard another splash. It was so dark he 
could not see Amanda as she got out. 

“What are you doing?” he called in great astonish- 
ment, starting to jump out himself. 

“You jes set still,” said Amanda, “and hoi’ them 
lines. I’ll lead ’im out. He’s got his foot thoo a 
hole between the planks.” 

“Get back in. Miss Am.anda. You ought to let me 
do- — ” 

“Jes wait now! Come up, boy! Whoa, fellow! 
Loosen the lines, Perfesser Thompson.” 

There was no time to protest; Jim did as he was 


118 THE DARK CORNER 

told, but in a moment there was another splash, and 
the buggy was given a jerk which threw him against 
the dashboard. 

^‘Whoa, sah! whoa, sah!” called Amanda. — oho 

— ouch 

Jim, recovering himself, jumped into the water, land- 
ing, fortunately, on the plank road, where the water 
was not more than ankle deep. He could not see 
Amanda, though she was scarcely three feet away, but 
he heard her struggling in the water. 

^‘Here I is!” 

Splash ! 

^‘But what d’you git out here fer?” 

Splash! 

“0-oh! ouch! One’s enough ter git wet!” 

Splash! 

^‘Ouch!” 

Jim stooped down, and putting his hands out, 
touched her shoulder. She was struggling in water 
above her waist trying to extricate her skirt from a 
huge, rough piece of plank. In lifting away the plank 
so the horse could get his foot out, she had fallen into 
the deepest part of the water. Jim lifted her bodily 
out, and set her down on the firm roadbed. 

^^Are you hurt?” he asked anxiously. 

‘‘Naws’r, I ain’t hurt. My dress jes caught under 
that air plank.” 

She had released the horse’s foot from between two 
planks where it had caught, and led him over the rough 
place. She had been thoroughly soused in the water, 
in danger of being drowned, and was considerably 
bruised and scratched; but she insisted “That ain’t 
nothin’. I knowed whut wuz the matter with the 
hoss; so I jes got out and loosened the plank. Hit’s 
all right now. We kin git back in. We’ll come to some- 
body’s house terrectly.” 

They got back into the buggy. Jim, against Aman- 
da’s protest, put his overcoat around her. Then he 
drove on as fast as he could make the horse go. 

The poets have often portrayed the feelings in the 
heart of a wayworn traveler lost in the dark and dis- 
mal night when he first sees afar a gleam of light 


THE DAKK CORNER 119 

through the gloomy darkness. Such a gleam pene- 
trates not only the darkness without, but the darkness 
within the soul. As these two travelers emerged from 
the swamp — they could tell it only by the ceasing of the 
rattling and the jolting upon the plank road — they saw 
this gleam of light; and all the joy that poets ever sung 
came into Jim’s heart; if Amanda felt any especial 
concern at all, no one could have noticed it even had 
it been day. 

A two-room dwelling was set back from the road, 
amidst a cluster of pine trees; and the light gleamed 
through a crack between the logs, from a bla^e in a big 
fireplace; for there were no lamps in this dwelling, 
and no windows save those closed by crude board shut- 
ters. 

Mr. Wister Harper lived there. ‘‘Wis” he was 
called by all the neighbors and by his sallow-faced, lean, 
and awkward but good-hearted wife. And there were 
five squalid, gawky beings, who called him “Paw.” 

Wis opened the door when he heard the “hello” from 
the road, and helloed back. 

“Git out and come in.” 

Jim got out and went up to the door. 

“They ain’t no William Jordan on this here road, 
for it goes straight to Waxton, nine miles erway,” said 
Wis, adding after a moment of staring, “Come ter 
think on it, I b’lieve he lives up in the Washmore 
Swamp settlemen^."’^ 

“Yes,” said Jim. 

“Wal, that ar’s ’bout twenty er twenty-five miles 
fum here.” 

Jim knew then he had missed his way. He was wet 
through and through, and chilled, and there was 
Amanda out there in a worse condition than he. The 
blaze on the hearth looked inviting, but there were 
already a man, his wife, and five children, ranging 
from two to sixteen years old, as the oldest girl seemed 
to be, and but two rooms to the house. 

“Who air you got with you out thar, mister?” asked 
Wister. 

“A young lady. Miss Cannon,” said Jim, 


120 THE DAKK COENER 

‘^Wal, now, that’ll never do,” said Wister. “Is she 
wet like you?” 

“Yes,” said Jim. 

‘^‘Wal, git her in here quick. We kin git her dry 
en warm anyhow. Hit’s er pow’ful bad night to be 
out in.” 

In a short while, Jim and Amanda were sitting on 
coarse split-bottom chairs before a big blazing fire. The 
Harpers, one and all, got themselves busy to make 
their visitors comfortable; each one, it seemed, adding 
a stick or two of “light ’ood” to the fire. 

“Amy!” Jim exclaimed, “why did you not tell me 
you were hurt?” 

Her dress was besmeared with blood. A deep gash 
had been cut in her arm by the sharp edge of the 
plank in the swamp. It must have given her agonizing 
pain, for the wound was an ugly one and it had been 
bleeding so much that she was faint. 

“I never seed how you could er done nothin’,” she 
said, “en you wuz already pestered enough without 
botherin’ long er me.” 

The next morning the rain had ceased and the sky 
was clear. The sun rose bright over the pine trees and 
lit up the woods with its golden light. The air was 
cool but still, and a perfect day was in prospect as the 
travelers took their leave. They had had a good night’s 
rest, and a breakfast of corn bread, hominy, “fry,” and 
cofl’ee. 

Jim offered to pay for the night’s lodging. “All I 
charge you,” said Wister Harper, “is to come ag’in,” 
and then Mrs. Harper showed the only signs of mirth 
during the whole visit. 

Not very far from their journey’s end, they met a 
young man on the road driving an ox-cart. He wore a 
blue cotton shirt and a thick overcoat somewhat fraz- 
zled and faded, a wool hat, with the band long ago dis- 
carded, pulled down over his eyes, shocks of red hair 
sticking out from under the edges of the hat. He had 
a good-natured face and a manly carriage. It was 
Tom Moore hauling a load of lightwood from the 
woods. He drove out of the road so as to let the 
buggy pass, and stood beside his ox eyeing the rather 


THE DAKK CORNER 121 

unusual vehicle. It was an ordinary top buggy, but 
there were no ordinary top buggies in all that country 
around. 

Tom did not recognize Amanda at first. She had 
on her blue uniform dress and a blue military cap with 
the gold letters H. C. M. I. on the visor. She recog- 
nized Tom when she first saw him afar down the road, 
but she made no sign by which Jim knew it. Tom 
stood staring, with a good-natured look on his face, 
till he did recognize Amanda just as the buggy was 
opposite him. 

‘^Howdy, Tom,’’ she said, with more animation than 
she had said anything else since the beginning of the 
Journey. 

^ ^‘Good-afternoon, sir,” said Jim gaily, smiling at the 
picturesque Tom. 

Tom’s face became suddenly stem and stony. He 
drew himself up to his full height and looked majestic 
— and ridiculous. He said never a word. When the 
buggy had passed him, he suddenly took off his hat 
and bent himself double, making a low, regular pump- 
handle bow, in mock obeisance. Jim laughed, and even 
Amanda smiled, though she did not understand the 
sarcastic nature of Tom’s greeting. Neither did Jim, 
as for that matter. The ox alone heard the full expres- 
sion of Tom’s sentiments. 

“Go long, you dad-busted fool. — I knowed it. — Now 
ain’t that air a sight fer you, fer sho’? Gone up thar 
and, jis es I said, got a lot er dad-busted hifalutin no- 
tions in ’er head. — ‘Good-afternoon, sir!’ Now ain’t 
that the very diirndest! — ^And them clothes!” He 
plodded on. “And that air fellow! Ever’thing’s jis’s I 
said, one er them dad-blasted town boys, with one er 
them clothes kittles on his head and them air yaller 
lookin’ gloves. — En I’ll bet he’s got a ring on his 
finger. — But I’ll git ’im. Hum ’im !” 

Jim and Amanda drove on, all unconscious of the 
prophetic soul of Tom. 

Mr. Jordan was sitting on the front steps smoking 
his pipe when the fine turnout from town drove up into 
the grove. He arose and strained his eyes to see who 
it could be. Jim stopped the buggy and got out, in- 


122 THE DAEK COENER 

tending to help Amanda out after him; but, while he 
was getting out on one side, she crawled over the 
wheel on the other. Her grandfather did not know 
her until she went up to him. 

“Whut, Mandy, gal!” he exclaimed. ^T^m er liar 
ef’n I knowed you with them fine clothes on. The Ole 
Oman sholy will be sprized. En that air’s one er the 
perfessers with you! Now ain’t that ’mazin’? Mandy, 
gal, whut’s the matter with your arm?” 

“Ain’t nothin’ much,” she replied. “Jes got it hurt 
a little last night, but hit’ll be well in little er no 
time.” 

Jim explained their mishap of the night before, tak- 
ing particular pains and particular delight to say that 
it was Amanda’s bravery which had saved them from 
a worse trouble in the swamp. 

“She were always a brave gal,” said the old man. 

Jim was received with the greatest cordiality by both 
Mr. and Mrs. Jordan, just as any other visitor would 
have been received. But when they found out that he 
was the son of Mr. and Mrs. Thompson, who had been 
so kind to their daughter and to Mandy, her little 
child, they were overjoyed, though they were first 
thrown into consternation. 

“I’m er liar,” said the old man, flopping down on a 
stump in the yard, “ef’n that air ain’t a ’mazin sar- 
cumstance now.” And Mrs. Jordan made some remark 
appropriate to the occasion. 

But they were not content with mere words. An 
extra armful of “light ’ood” was put on the fire, more 
covering was put on the bed in the “settin’ room,” and 
Ole Man Bill J ordan announced that night that on the 
morrow they would kill hogs. 


CHAPTEE XIX 

That night by the fire-light in the “settin’ room,” 
after the others had gone to bed, Jim wrote to Aileen 
and to his mother, telling them where he was, and 
why. The “settin’ room” had been assigned to him for 


THE DAKK CORNER 123 

a bedroom. The whole family dressed in there the 
next morning, for no other room in the house, except 
the kitchen, had a fire-place in it. That, though, fortu- 
nately, was before he waked up, for he slept soundly in 
the thick, smothering feather-bed. 

After breakfast, he and Mr. Jordan decided to hitch 
up and drive to the post-ofiice. Jim wanted to mail his 
letters and see more of the country and its people. We 
have seen some of these before, on the occasion of our 
trip with the distinguished president of the H. C. M. I. 
It is the same now as then, with the exception of the 
slight change in the season; but the respective impres- 
sions made on the two men differed widely, owing to 
the difference of viewpoint. 

As Mr. Jordan and his visitor emerged from the 
Washmore Swamp, they came in sight of a log house 
on the edge of a little piece of pine woods. A small 
stream of smoke curled from the top of a mud-daubed 
log chimney; and a wooden shutter, of unplaned pine 
board, stood ajar to admit the light. 

“Who lives there?” asked Jim. 

“Whar? — Thar?” asked his companion, pointing to 
the cabin. 

Jim nodded his head. 

“That air’s the schoolhouse,” said Mr. Jordan. 

Jim was very much interested, and wanted to get 
out and go in. Mr. Jordan was chairman of the school 
board; but he had not been inside the schoolhouse 
since he helped to build it. He knew the teacher, 
though, who, according to custom, had spent the first 
week of “boarding around” at his house. 

A low murmur of voices greeted their ears as they 
approached the door and knocked, but there was little 
evidence of surplus energy usual in a school room. A 
pale-faced, lank boy of about twelve years old timidly 
opened the door, and the two visitors entered. 

Seated in rows on crude, backless benches set irregu- 
larly in different parts of the room, were some fifteen 
or twenty sallow-faced, dull-eyed, lifeless-looking chil- 
dren, ranging in age from six to sixteen. The benches 
were all of the same height, and made to seat the 
larger children, so that the smaller ones sat with their 


124 THE DAEK CORNER 

little scrawny legs, all clothed in dirty white stockings, 
suspended in air. The boys were clothed in suits of 
coarse, home-made jeans, the breeches of most of them 
patched at various points along the anatomy fore and 
aft. The girls each wore the usual coarse homespun 
one-piece dress; now and then there was a crude at- 
tempt at adornment with a bit of faded ribbon at the 
neck or a fancy-colored comb in the crudely dressed 
hair. Each child had a dog-eared book of some kind, 
or a greasy slate ; not engaged with it in any way, as a 
general thing, just holding it in his hands or lap. Some 
few of them were idly making marks on their slates, 
others gnawing the corners of their already much- 
gnawed books, while still others were tearing up bits of 
paper and throwing them on the already much-littered 
floor. It was winter, so that there were no flies for 
them to catch. There was a listless, lifeless, stupid air 
about everything and everybody. The children all 
looked up blankly at the newcomers, and some of their 
languor left them, the least bit of curiosity coming into 
their faces as they saw the strange man with a white 
shirt and a collar, and a queer kind of stiff, black hat. 

Across the room, sitting near the stove with his feet 
cocked up, on a level with his eyes, against one of the 
logs of the wall, his chin resting against his shirt’s 
soiled bosom, was a rather large and puffy sort of man, 
about thirty years old. He had a low forehead, small, 
black eyes beneath heavy black eyebrows, a head of 
shaggy black hair, and his clean-shaven face had not 
been shaved clean in about a month. He was the 
teacher. 

“Perfesser!” called the boy, who had opened the 
door. 

No answer. 

^‘Uh-h Perfesser!” repeated the boy a little louder. 
Four or five boys and girls joined in a chorus of 
“Perfesser! Perfesser Brown! Uh-h Perfesser,” each 
time getting a little louder. 

“Uh ! hey !” remarked the gentleman addressed, look- 
ing around and lifting a dirty fist to his eyes, but 
without otherwise moving. 


THE DAEK COKNER 125 

“Em €r liar eEn he ainT sleep,” observed Mr. Jordan 
to Jim. 

“Uh! eh! what’s that? Who says I’m asleep?” 

Now, his fist having pried open his eyes, he looked 
up again, but not far enough around to see the vis- 
itors. 

“Peered ter me you wuz sleep,” said Mr. Jordan. 

“No, sir; no, sir,” exclaimed the teacher, springing 
suddenly to his feet, “quite an inaccuracy, sir, quite 
an inaccuracy. Good-morning, Mr. Jordan.” 

Looking a little further around the room he saw 
Jim. Then he raised himself to his full height, pulled 
down his vest over the portly part of his figure, spit a 
big wad of tobacco on the floor, and with great dignity 
and courtesy advanced to greet his visitors. 

“My name is Brown, sir,” he said, holding out his 
hand to Jim, “Professor Bucephalus Brown. Quite 
felicitous, sir. What mought be the honor of your 
name ?” 

Jim found it necessary to turn his head and cough 
before telling him the honor of his name. 

^^Thompson is my name. I am a teacher myself,” 
said Jim, but made haste to correct himself by adding, 
“Or have been. Chancing to pass by, I came in to see 
something of your work here, if there is no objection.” 

“He’s ben one er the perfessers in Perfesser Tilson’s 
school at Hollisville. You’s heerd er that, I reckin,” 
put in Mr. Jordan by way of making a favorable im- 
pression for his guest on Professor Bucephalus Brown. 

“Oh! ah! yes. M-j Alam Mater,” observed the Pro- 
fessor with great dignity. “Quite felicitous, sir.” 

“Don’t let us interrupt you,” said Jim. “Go ahead 
with your work as usual. We will take seats here and 
observe.” 

“Yes, sir. Quite felicitous, sir.” 

Jim and Mr. Jordan took seats on one of the back- 
less benches beside some of the children. The teacher 
stood looking puzzled for a' moment, glancing around 
over the room. Suddenly an idea occurred to him. 

“We are just in the midst of a recitation in — ah — 
the science of jog-ra-phy, sir,” he said impressively. 


126 THE DARK CORNER 

Then, turning to the school, he said with great majesty, 
‘‘The class in the Science of Jography.” 

Three pale, sallow-faced, shy-looking girls, one tall, 
lank boy, and one more chubby-looking little fellow 
with a less lifeless, if dirtier, face than the others, 
arose, one by one, and took their seats on a bench near 
the stove. Before beginning the lesson, the teacher 
turned again to his visitors and explained, “We teach 
the round or speroidal system of jography, sir. They 
was addicted to the flat system here, givin’ instruction 
that the earth is flat, but as I can teach either system, 
I introduced the round or speroidal system with mirac- 
ulous consequences, as you will comprehend.” 

Taking the book which one of the girls handed him, 
he opened it and proceeded to demonstrate some of the 
miraculous consequences. But he could not find the 
place where the lesson was, so that, after turning the 
pages of the book at haphazard for a minute or more, 
he asked with the same dignity and impressiveness, 
“Ada, will you specify the lesson?” 

Ada had not the most remote idea how to “specify” 
a lesson, but as he walked up to her and held out the 
book she turned to the page and put her finger upon a 
list of questions at the bottom. 

“Where is Timbuctoo ?” he asked, this being the first 
question in the list. 

No one answered. He looked down at the question 
again, and repeated, “Where is Timbuctoo?” Then 
reading the answer printed opposite the question, he 
began searching the map on the opposite page of the 
book, till finally his finger stopped upon a point. A 
broad smile of satisfaction at his achievement came 
over his moon-shaped face. “That is to say,” he ob- 
served, beginning to elaborate and clarify his ques- 
tion, “What is the locality in which Timbuctoo is 
situated ?” 

Still nobody answered. 

“Hamilton,” the teacher said, “permit me to expa- 
tiate. You observe my finger in this state of perpen- 
dicularity. It rests upon Timbuctoo. Now, Hamilton, 
I perceive that you comprehend that point. Where- 


THE DAKK COENER 127 

fore, see if you can answer. Is Timbuctoo in Af- 
rica 2” 

‘‘YasT,’’ said Hamilton, without any change of ex- 
pression. 

^‘Correct, sir; correct exactly.’’ 

Professor Bucephalus Brown looked around to fasten 
the favorable impression such an exhibition of learning 
must make upon his visitors, smiling at them in ac- 
knowledgment of anticipated congratulations. His eye 
fell again upon the book and he began searching with 
the point of his finger for the next question. But sud- 
denly it occurred to him — he could not find the next 
question — that he might tal^e another way to demon- 
strate some of the miraculous consequences of his sphe- 
roidal sj^stem. 

“Hattie, will you tell us. Is Africa on the top side, 
that is, on the superior side of the earth’s surface, or 
is it underneath?” 

No answer. 

Still no answer. 

“’Tain’t in the joggerfy,” suddenly observed the 
chubby-faced boy, whose name was Bob. 

The teacher frowned. 

“Bob,” he said severely, “how often have I admon- 
ished you for saying ‘joggerfy’? You should say “jog- 
ra-phy/^^ Then after clearing his throat, he stepped 
back a pace, straightened himself up and looked ma- 
jestically over the room. 

“Children, always speak with perspicuity,” he said in 
a loud, commanding voice with great dignity. 

After delivering himself of this unquestionably wise 
injunction, and pausing a moment to see that it was 
duly noted, he turned again to his class. 

“You comprehend me, I presume. Is Africa dia- 
metrically opposite the extreme point on the corre- 
sponding hemisphere?” 

“Yas’r,” answered Hattie. 

“Of a certainty,” said the Professor, highly satis- 
fied. 

“Hit’s on the tother side er the worl’,” put in Bob, 
with the nearest approach to anything like life Jim 
had been able to observe in any of the pupils since he 


128 THE DAKK COKNEK 

had come in. But Bob got a frown from his teacher 
and a lecture for his inelegant speech. 

‘‘You mean. Bob,” he said, “that it is opposite to a 
corresponding point on the spheroid.” 

Again, with a show of mortification because of BoVs 
lack of conventionality. Professor Bucephalus Brown 
began searching the book for a question. 

“Where is the desert of Sarah?” 

While the children stared, he looked on the book for 
the printed answer, and on the map to find it for the 
purposes of again “expatiating” and illustrating with 
the perpendicularity of his finger. By the same process 
as before, he and the class arrived in due season at the 
conclusion that the Desert of “Sarah” was also in Af- 
rica at a point “diametrically opposite the extreme 
point on the corresponding hemisphere.” 

Jim, at this point, partly for mischief and partly 
with a sincere desire to see if the children knew any- 
thing, could not refrain from putting in a question. 

^'What is the Desert of Sarah?” He pronounced it 
“Sarah” just as the teacher had. 

“Yes, sir, most felicitous, sir,” observed Professor 
Bucephalus. Then turning to the class he asked, “Can 
you reply to that interrogation, Eunice ?” 

If Eunice could reply to the interrogation she would 
not, for she looked as blank as the average lottery 
ticket. All the children sat staring at Jim with their 
mouths open. The tension was very great. It was the 
only time the teacher seemed to be losing the mastery 
of the situation. 

“Hips pooty dry thar, ain’t it?” 

Bob had come to the rescue. 

“Yes, yes,” said the Professor, so much relieved that 
he forgot to frown at Bob, “quite correct, indeed. Bob. 
A notable lack of moisture. Is there not?” 

“Yas’r,” said the class in chorus, bringing a look of 
triumph into the Professor’s face and bearing. Turn- 
ing to Jim, he observed, “Professor, they are well in- 
formed upon that subject, you see, sir.” 

Jim saw. But he had one more question. 

**Why is it dry there?” 

“Yes, yes, quite felicitous. Professor. Extremely ap- 


THE DAKK COENER 129 

propriate. I am quite sure they can explain. Explain 
it to him, Sudie.’’ 

Sudie showed the same disinclination to explain that 
Eunice had. But she was well informed on the subject, 
as her teacher proceeded to show. 

‘^Let us expatiate. Let us suppose for the sake of 
hypothesis that this room, that is, this enclosure here, 
is the Desert of Sarah. Then if it is raining outside, 
that is, to be more explicit, if moisture were precipi- 
tating on the exterior, some of it would enter through 
the aperture in the wall there. Would it not?” No- 
body denied this, and he continued. “Then it is be- 
cause moisture is not frequently precipitated in the 
Desert of Sarah that it is dry there. Is not that what 
you learned a few days ago, Sudie?” 

“Yas^r.” 

Bob interjected here his contribution to the learned 
scientific discussion. 

“Hit’s dry thar ’cause hit don’t never rain thar.” 

Jim looked approvingly at Bob and smiled. At the 
same time, Bob’s teacher was frowning most severely. 

Jim was so much interested that he wanted to stay 
longer; but, fearing his risibles might not be able to 
stand further strain, he felt forced to take his leave. 

“Have you any suggestions as to the managing of the 
school?” asked Professor Bucephalus Brown, as his 
visitors were leaving. 

“No, I believe not,” said Jim. But as he got out- 
side, he turned and added, “Oh, yes, there is one sug- 
gestion.” 

“Thank you, sir. Quite felicitous, sir.” 

“Give a long holiday for Christmas,” said Jim. 

Jim was still laughing in his sleeves, and amusement 
was playing about his features, when, after they had 
driven a little piece down the road, his companion 
turned to him. 

“That air’s er mazin smart man, Perfesser.” 

Jim looked at Mr. Jordan, smiling at the wit of the 
remark, when he saw a solemnity and seriousness in 
every line of the old man’s face. Then every expres- 
sion of amusement faded out of his face, and he stared 


130 THE DAKK COKNER 

at first in blank amazement, then in sorrowful reflec- 
tion. He saw now only the pitiable side, the tragic 
side of it all. Here was the most prominent man in 
the whole community, the chairman of the school board, 
putting the very prince of fools to teach the children 
of the district, and calling him “er mazin smart man.” 
And this, it dawned upon him, was doubtless the kind 
of man the school had always had for its teacher, the 
kind that Amanda had had ever since she had been 
going to school. And if perchance, or if it were pos- 
sible, for a bigger fool to come along, he would be con- 
sidered a smarter man than this Bucephalus Brown; 
and the poor deluded people would be better pleased to 
have their children go to him. It was monstrous, he 
saw, and right there he determined that if possible one 
man in that community should be undeceived as to one 
humbug. He therefore proceeded to tell Mr. Jordan 
what he thought of Brown. 

Ole Man Bill Jordan was illiterate; he was worse 
than illiterate, he was ignorant; but he was credulous, 
and Jim had the advantage that the old man believed 
in him now as he had never believed in any one else. 
The consequence was that by the time they reached 
home that night, the chairman of the school board had 
made up his mind that, when the school closed at the 
end of the week, it would end the reign in that district 
of Professor Bucephalus Brown. 


CHAPTER XX 

The Washmore Swamp post-office was at a country 
store, where the roads forked. In addition to opening 
the mail three times a week, closely inspecting the out- 
side of all envelopes, reading the postal cards, the 
postmaster was charged with other duties and respon- 
sibilities. He sold meal and sugar, coffee, soda, snuff, 
tobacco, and a few other of the necessities of life. He 
likewise bought eggs, or rather took them in exchange, 
and sent them to town every two weeks, getting other 
goods. He traded oxen and mules, too; and once 


THE dark: corner 1.^1 

he had had a horse. Goats inhabited his broad acres, 
and pigs rooted among the fragrant jimson weeds of 
his front yard. He had even been known during sev- 
eral stated periods in his career to keep a milch cow. 
On the whole, he was accounted a prosperous man. He 
was good company, too, the postmaster was, being fat 
and hearty, and sometimes disposed to go back to the 
rear of the store with some of the men who dropped 
in. The object of these visits to the rear of the store 
was a matter of conjecture to strangers and less favored 
acquaintances who chanced to be there, though some 
came back smacking their lips and wiping their mouths 
on their sleeves, and all of them acted as if they im- 
agined they felt better. The post-office and store was 
a good place to stop for a rest. It was a pl-ace to learn 
all the news and to tell all the news, a place to talk 
politics, to spin yarns, to discuss the weather and the 
crops, and to complain of the hard times. It was a 
place to chew tobacco, to spit, and to ‘‘cuss.” 

Several men were congregated around the store when 
Jim and Ole Man Bill Jordan drove up. Two carts 
were in the middle of the road awaiting their drivers, 
and to one of these carts was tied a rusty but dignified 
old mule, with a crocus sack on his back, made sleek 
by contact with a man’s “pants.” The men were talk- 
ing. They were intent upon their topic, too, this morn- 
ing. There was only one. 

About four miles from there, the night before, Jeff 
and Mose Long had killed Asa Homer, their brother- 
in-law. They were drunk, all three of them, at Asa’s 
house, where they were having a cock fight. They fell 
out over the cock fight, and each having a pistol, there 
was a general shooting. Homer was killed. One of the 
Longs was hurt, but both of them made their escape. 
John Homer, Asa’s brother, got two of his friends and 
they started that same night, armed with shotguns, 
swearing they would kill both of the Longs on sight. 

Now, do not suppose, from anything heretofore said 
about the sleepiness of these people of the Dark Corner, 
or any little dullness of faculty you yourself may have 
noticed in them, that they did not, like all other peo- 
ple, stand ready to know and to tell some new thing. 


132 THE HAKK COENEE 

In a civilized community a murder takes precedence 
of all topics of conversation. In a community whose 
conversational resources are usually limited to the 
weather, the crops, a little politics every two years, 
and such brief remarks about every wedding as ^‘I’ll 
be darned,’^ and ^‘Wal, I never thought she’d er had 
him,” — in such a community, a murder, as a topic of 
conversation, is a veritable oasis in a desert. 

These men at the store were talking about the mur- 
der, and before nightfall, — means of communication 
being quickened for the occasion, — nearly every other 
man in all that country round, and nearly every woman, 
was doing the same thing. 

The next day, Sunday, was therefore looked forward 
to with the keenest interest and pleasure. There was 
to be ^‘church” at the Washmore Swamp Church, and 
there would be people there to talk with on the all- 
absorbing topic. More than that, far more than that, 
fast following the first news of the killing, came the 
news — every man that passed along the road stopped 
at every man’s house to tell what he knew — that Asa 
Homer was to be buried at the Washmore Swamp 
graveyard in the morning. It was indeed a day to look 
forward to, and there were anticipations to sweeten 
one’s dreams. 

Jim went to church with the Jordans. He and Mr. 
Jordan hitched up the horse to the buggy and the mule 
to the wagon, and, against the protest of all the Jor- 
dans, who wanted their visitor to have the best of 
everything, he allowed Mrs. Jordan and Amanda to go 
in the buggy, and himseK rode in the wagon with Mr. 
Jordan. 

When they arrived, the whole churchyard was full of 
men. Amanda and Mrs. Jordan went on inside. Jim 
stopped with Mr. Jordan outside among a group of men 
who were talking about the killing. All over the 
churchyard and out in the road were similar groups 
discussing the same topic. All were interested, and 
seemed to be enjoying themselves beyond measure. 
Each one, who could, delighted to recount some cir- 
cumstance before or after the crime, which might h avg 


THE DAKK COKNER 1^3 

a bearing on it or might be in any way interesting in 
connection with it. 

Hear where Jim was standing, a man who had once 
shot Jeff Long’s pistol was quite much of a hero, and 
the crowd gathered around him in admiring attitudes, 
until a greater than he appeared upon the scene in the 
person of a man who had passed Mose Long that very 
night on his way to Asa Homer’s with a cock under his 
arai, and had stopped and talked with him about it. 
Jim watched them for a long time, listened only pas- 
sively to their tales, but watched with keen interest 
the expressions on their faces. Then he wandered off 
and around the churchyard. Going up to the church 
door, he looked in upon rows of women on one side of 
the aisle and rows of empty benches on the other. 
There were no men inside at all save the preacher, who 
was sitting up in front behind a plain pine stand which 
they called the pulpit. The church was built of un- 
planed planks, unceiled inside, and the windows were 
only board shutters; there was no glass in them. A 
huge stove was in the middle of the aisle which ran 
between the rows of backless benches, and the floor had 
huge cracks in it. Yet condemn them not; the house 
of the Lord was fixed up better than their own homes, 
which is not true of every community. 

The women were not talking, save only a few; they 
were just sitting there, patiently waiting. Some of 
them had their eyes closed, Jim thought, but he could 
not tell, for they all had on huge sunbonnets which 
covered their faces. 

While standing there at the church door gazing in 
upon the scene and thinking of the strangeness and 
the weirdness of it, he heard, down the road, a most 
terrific screaming and wailing. He could not tell how 
many there were, but they were women, and shrieking 
at the tops of their voices, in most piteous distress; 
and, he thought, in appeal for help. Instantly, almost 
involuntarily, he started with a rush toward the road. 
Suddenly, observing Mr. Jordan sitting on a stump of 
a tree calmly looking in the direction of the scream- 
ing, he stopped and looked around. All the other men 
were in like manner looking with eager, expectant eyes. 


134 THE DARK CORNER 

but without the least sign of excitement or alarm. He 
was puzzled, but his excitement was not abated. 

“What’s the matter?” he exclaimed. 

“Whut’s the matter with whut?” asked Mr. Jordan 
calmly, 

“Why, don’t you hear that screaming? Had we not 
better go and help them?” 

“Them’s jes the women folks cryin’ ’cause he’s dead.” 

Mr. Jordan was puzzled to know why Jim did not 
know that. 

The screaming grew louder, more piteous and heart- 
rending, as the vehicles steadily approached. Presently 
a shackly wagon with wobbly wheels, drawn by a lean, 
half-fed mule, emerged from the bend in the road. 
This bore a plain pine coffin, without handles, stained 
brown with the oil of walnut hulls. Beside it in the 
same wagon, one on either side and leaning over it, 
were two women, the mother and the wife of the dead 
man, both wailing with the full strength of their lungs 
and crying out incoherent words of endearment and 
grief, wringing their worn and blood-drained hands in 
the agony of woe. In the lap of one of them, the 
younger, was a child of two or three years, who from 
fright and lack of understanding was crying, too, at 
the top of its childish voice. Behind the wagon were 
two or three ox-carts, filled with women and children 
and aged men, relatives of the deceased; and some 
were walking beside these. Slowly the mournful pro- 
cession moved up into the churchyard and to an open 
grave underneath a pine tree in the corner of the yard 
furthest from the church. The hundred men or more 
stood by watching curiously and eagerly. The women’s 
piteous wails kept up and seemed to grow louder and 
more heartrending as the bier neared the gaping 
grave. 

They got out of the wagon, got out without the as- 
sistance of the men, and stood by wailing still louder, 
getting in the way of the men, who lowered the coffin 
into the grave with ropes and filled it over with earth. 

The hundreds of men stood by and gazed curiously. 
To them it was only a show, and the wailing of the 
women was a part of it. But with Jim, every shrill 


THE DAEK CORHEK 135 

cry went to his impressionable heart, to which was im- 
parted something* of the woe; and the nnimpressiona- 
bleness of the other men made it deeper in him. The 
little child clinging to its frantic mother^s skirts and 
crying at the top of its voice moved him especially. He 
went up and gently took it by the hand. The little 
fellow continued to yell, but, as if in hopelessness and 
darkness, it yielded to Jim’s tender sympathy. In a 
short time it became quiet. Jim had succeeded in in- 
teresting it in the nose and teeth and eyes of the old 
mule. This simple little act was the only thing that 
was odd or unusual to the spectators. They had seen 
all the other before. 

When the grave was filled and a mound made, two 
straight boards were driven into the soft earth, one at 
the head and one not quite so tall at the foot. The 
women stopped screaming then and got back into the 
wagon. Jim gave the mother her child, and they drove 
quietly away. 

Meantime, they were about to have ^^church” inside. 
Jim and Mr. J ordan went up to the door. There were 
no vacant seats. The empty benches on the side oppo- 
site where the women sat had been filled up with men. 
They, with a number of others, stood, therefore, in the 
door. 

The preacher half read, half sang, two lines of a 
hymn and asked Brother Taylor to “histe de chune.” 
Brother Taylor ^^histed de chune.” He histed it about 
an octave higher than anybody could reach, but that 
deterred nobody; they lit in, screeched and yelled these 
two lines, stopped and looked up for more. He ^dined 
out” two more lines, which were likewise devoured; 
and so on till the hymn was consumed, and everybody 
was happy and hoarse. 

After this the minister prayed. He prayed loud and 
long and earnestly, but nobody understood what he 
was praying for; whatever it was, it was totally for- 
eign to their comprehension; totally apart from any- 
thing; touching their lives, either immediate or remote. 
Next he announced the text from First Peter, Third 
Chapter and Twentieth Verse: ‘‘Which sometime were 
disobedient, when once the long suffering of God waited 


136 THE DAEK COENER 

in the days of Noah, while the ark was a preparing, 
wherein few, that is, eight souls, were saved by water.” 

For one hour and fifteen minutes, by Jim^s watch, 
was vigorously and vociferously expounded there the 
doctrine of eternal salvation by water. The congrega- 
tion sat patient and listless. Occasionally, though not 
often, a man or a woman would nod, but he was soon 
awake again. No one could sleep in any peace, the 
preacher hollered so. Very few gave the substance of 
the sermon any serious thought; they had heard it all 
their lives — ^that is, it had been preached in their pres- 
ence all their lives. There was nothing new in it now. 
There was nothing new that could be in it. Not being 
able to sleep for the hollering, they just sat there think- 
ing about Asa Homer and the Longs. 

As the people started out of the church, Mr. Jordan 
turned to Jim. 

^‘Fm a liar,” he said, ^^ei'n hit want a pow’ful sar- 
mon, Perfesser.” 

^^Powerful,” said Jim, and hurriedly changed the 
subject to the weather. The preacher came out after 
the other men, leaving the women in the church. Jim 
had wondered when he first looked into the church, 
before the sermon, why the women were not interested 
in the killing, for they were silent, while every man 
on the whole premises was talking about it. He saw 
now. It was their inning. As soon as the benediction 
had been pronounced, they went together in groups 
like the pieces in a kaleidoscope; and the thin walls of 
the church resounded with the murmuring and chatter- 
ing of every woman in the house talking at once, all 
talking about the horrible deed. 

The preacher joined Jim and Mr. Jordan. 

“What did you think of the sarmon?” he asked. 

“We wuz jes er sayin’,” answered Mr. Jordan, “as 
how hit wuz sholy powTul.” 

Jim broke in suddenly as if it were of the most 
urgent importance and asked if they thought it was 
going to rain. There was not the sign or semblance of 
a cloud to be seen anywhere in the heavens. His ques- 
tion had the desired effect, though, for the moment; 
the old man told the preacher about Jim and Amanda’s 


THE DARK CORNER 137 

experience of several nights before. When this was 
over, for fear they might get back to the subject of the 
sermon, Jim asked them if they thought the crops were 
in need of rain. It was past the middle of December, 
and there were no crops to need rain; but Jim was des- 
perate. They considered a moment, and concluding 
that he was from town and did not know anything 
about crops, made no attempt to answer. 

^‘That was the good Bible doctrine,” began the 
preacher. 

Jim was at his last row; only one thing could save 
him from the embarrassing question of what he 
thought of the sermon, and he must save himself. 

‘^One bullet struck him in the jaw, didn’t it?” he 
observed. 

This he knew would be a success, and it was. Imme- 
diately the preacher and Mr. Jordan entered with en- 
thusiasm into the subject which had already wearied 
Jim to the point of disgust. But it was inevitable. 

It was when Jim got back to Mr. Jordan’s that day 
that he expressed himself on that sermon; not to the 
Jordans, though; he wrote it in his journal. 

‘‘And that is what passes for spiritual ministration 
to a people in whose midst a heinous and revolting 
crime excites only curiosity, and gives opportunity for 
pleasurable gossip. By such tommyrot as that would 
he elevate a people born and reared in ignorance, sloth, 

and moral and intellectual torpidity and But no, 

I suppose he thinks he has nothing to do with en- 
lightening them and elevating them. All that is the 
business of the grace of God — and water. His job is 
to get up in the pulpit and howl and rant about some- 
thing the people do not understand and would not be 
of the slightest importance if they did understand. 
But it was a powerful sermon — oh, yes, powerful 
enough to be heard half a mile. 

“Meanwhile, their poverty-stricken souls are lan- 
guishing for lack of nourishment.” 

Whether after dinner Jim was in a better humor or 
a worse the reader must decide for himself. This is 
what he added in a postscript to the above entry; 


138 THE DAEK CORNEE 

“It would have been hard for him to preach on the 
subject of that murder, I suppose. But Heavens! why 
didn’t he preach then, on, say biscuits? That’s a long 
ways more intelligible a subject than the one he did 
preach on, and has lots more to do with Christian 
virtue. 

“'The great religious principle these people need to 
lay hold on is good digestion; and a few sermons on 
how to cook would put more religion, and better, into 
them than all the sermons on the method of baptism, 
predestination and election, justification by faith, the 
Apostolic succession, and so on, that were ever 
preached in the history of the world.” 


CHAPTER XXI 

Mr. and Mrs. Jordan were simple souls and good 
ones. Ignorant, dull, and uncouth, they were also 
simple-hearted and single-hearted, kindly-souled and 
unselfish. Amanda was like them, though Jim found 
after several days’ association with her that she was by 
no means so dull as she had appeared. It was the at- 
mosphere in which she had lived that had benumbed 
her faculties. In the art of expressing herself she was 
woefully deficient, but she was possessed of good com- 
mon sense; there was a certain dignity about her bear- 
ing, sullen as it seemed, a serious attitude towards life, 
beyond her years; and Jim thought that, back through 
the still, lustrous blue eyes, he could see a soul in the 
girl. If this gratified him, it still saddened him, for 
ever it was borne upon his mind what might have been. 
On the day he left the Jordans, he wrote in his journal : 

“Consider this: suppose on that day we two played 
together in the yard, Amy and I, that tall, pale man 
in a canvas-top wagon had taken me and left her; 
brought me out heje to be reared in these surround- 
ings, in this atmosphere of ignorance, squalor, sloth, 
sleep, and left her amidst comfort and refinement, lov- 
ing care, enlightenment, life — would she have been as 
I, and I as she? Who knows?” 


THE DARK CORNER 139 

And years after that — twenty years — a marginal note 
answers, ^‘Only God.” 

Among the first questions Mr. and Mrs. Jordan asked 
Jim when they had got used to the “mazin sarcum- 
stance” that he was the son of the man who had be- 
friended their daughter when she was in trouble, was, 
if he knew anything about the “tother gal,” Amanda’s 
sister. Jim told them he recalled vaguely the straight, 
slender girl with the long, yellow curls, but he did not 
even know she was Amanda’s sister. 

^‘Yeh,” said Mrs. Jordan, “Wash Cannon took her 
off ter Richmond, Virginny, with him, ’cause they wuz 
somethin’ the matter with her years, and he left her 
thar with some er his kin folks, we uns don’t know the 
name; en he died without tollin’ us whar ter fin’ her. 
So’s we ain never seen ’er ’tall.” 

Jim bade the Jordans good-bye. He tried to look 
cheerful, but his heart was sad. All the old man said 
was, “I’m a liar ef’n I ain’t pow’ful sorry fer you to go ; 
but come ag’in.” Jim took the reins into his hand, 
and his horse started off at a brisk trot down the road. 
It was an ideal day. The sun glowed and glistened 
upon the piny woods, seeming to endow the tall and 
graceful trees with something akin to human sympa- 
thy and affection. As he reached the place where the 
road bent, he turned to get a last glimpse of the home 
to which he felt, in some strange way, bound. Mrs. 
Jordan and Amanda were still standing on the piazza; 
and, leaning over the rail fence near the cow lot, with 
his big, rough, sun-browned hand squeezing together 
the ends of his shaggy white beard, was Ole Man Bill 
Jordan gazing pensively and wistfully over the rims 
of his spectacles after his departing guest and friend. 

Jim was going home to quite a different scene — to 
comfort and to congenial society, a fond mother and 
sister, and appreciative friends; back into a world of 
activity and opportunity, where joy was, and life, and 
an atmosphere of culture, of social refinement, grace 
and graciousness, sympathy and understanding love; 
and, above all, where the embodiment of all these, 
Aileen, was. What, then, made him sad? 

Amanda’s big blue eyes had seemedTo have a brighter 


140 THE DAEK COENER 

lustre in them that day, as she told him good-bye. And 
she had looked straight into his eyes. If she meant 
more by it than she had ever meant before when she 
looked at him, he did not know it; though he remem- 
bered afterwards how she looked, and that her hand 
had more than the usual warmth. And she did not 
know it. But, when he had gone, — he never knew this, 
nor did she know why or think to ask herself why, — 
she went into the house and sat for hours looking with 
those same eyes — ^more lustrous now in truth, for they 
were moist — into the flickering blaze and the slowly 
dying embers on the hearth. 

Jim went to his home thus thoughtfully. His 
mother and Annie threw their affectionate arms around 
him, and he nestled his strangely beating heart in 
“that spot of earth supremely blest.” He found await- 
ing him two letters from Aileen, breathing her devoted, 
conflding love; and his heart fed on the sweetness of 
it, and the joy of it. But he felt strange; that, some- 
how, something was not real in the world, or if real 
then not right, and he was bound up with it in a way 
he could not comprehend. 

“I have dreamed a dream — but part of my dream is 
real,” he wrote in his journal. “But whether the four 
days I spent with Aileen is the real, and the four days 
with Amanda the dream, I know not. Within these 
ten days I have been in two worlds. Both cannot be 
real ; or, if they are. I’m the dream, a spectre belonging 
in some strange way to both.” 

His mother and Annie were intensely interested in 
all he told them about Amanda, or “Amy,” as they 
still called her. He told them all about his trip to the 
Dark Corner, beginning with the long, tedious drive 
with Amanda, enlarging upon her brave deed in the 
swamp; told them of the home in which she lived, of 
Ole Man Bill Jordan and his oddities, of Mrs. Jordan, 
of the school and the church. They were interested in 
it all; but Jim saw their interest was as in a stranger 
with a romantic story. His growing sympathy, which 
moved him not only to shed tears but to devise if pos- 
sible some means of assisting her, was not shared by 
them. Whatever Amy had been when a little girl in 


THE DARK CORNER 141 

their home, whatever she might have been if she had 
stayed there, she was now an ordinary backwoods. 
Dark Corner girl ; and they felt, as Aileen appeared to 
feel, that she belonged to a different class, and that 
from the very nature of things, she must inevitably 
remain as she was. 

Aileen said in one of the letters Jim found awaiting 
him that his letter from Washmore Swamp, describing 
everything, had greatly entertained her and her mother 
and that it must have been a unique and interesting 
experience for him. He wrote her a long letter, in 
which he discussed the duty of the world to the igno- 
rant and unfortunate, mentioning his own particular 
impulse to try to undo what fate had done for poor 
Amy. He got a letter, in reply, full of expressions of 
boundless affection, yearnings to see him, pleadings 
that he would not stay away from her long, that if 
possible he would come to her again before the holi- 
days were over, for she expected then to go back to 
Hollisville, saying that her heart was hungry for him 
all the time. All she said in reference to the contents 
of his letter was the teasing remark, “You must not 
give too much thought to this old girl of yours whom 
you have now visited in the country, or your newly 
found Little Girl will be jealous.” He wrote other long 
disquisitions, to which she made no reference at all in 
her letters. 

Jim did not suspect Aileen of being jealous, but he 
feared she would not appreciate his interest in this 
matter. His journal a few days later contains this : 

“Yet after all, why should I be so much concerned 
about this girl? It was the merest accident that she 
ever was under our roof; and she is doubtless better 
for those two or three years. Thus fate has helped her, 
rather than hurt her. Why should I grieve?” 

After several days he wrote: 

“Why compare her with my sister, or think of her in 
that connection? Is it just because she came so near 
being reared as one of us and being in effect my sis- 
ter? Even then, she would not have been, for she is 
not bone of my bone and flesh of my flesh 

“Yet — yet — ^what is flesh and bone and blood? lu 


142 THE DARK CORNER 

this or any case? ‘Who is my mother? And who are 
my brethren ? And he stretched forth his hand towards 
his disciples, and said. Behold my mother and my 
brethren. For whosoever shall do the will of my 
Father which is in Heaven, the same is my brother, 
and sister, and mother.^ What does this mean, if not 
that a true servant of God must consider all mankind 
his brethren, and minister unto them according to’ their 
merits and their needs, without regard to flesh, or 
bone, or blood? 

“I donT know.” 

Still again, a few pages further over in the journal, 
written soon after the above, is this: 

“But why Amy? She’s just one girl out of thou- 
sands, aye, millions like unto her. They are scattered 
over the earth everywhere, in the backwoods and out, in 
the Dark Corner and in the very centres of Light; and 
many of them, perhaps after all, most of them, in a far 
more miserable state than Amy. Shall I grieve for all 
of them and get my soul wrought up because they have 
not been reared under my mother’s roof? 

“Why Amy more than they?” 

Five or six days afterwards, on the margin was 
written merely this: “I don’t know — ^but somehow.” 

All this time — Christmas had come and gone — while 
Mrs. Thompson and Annie had been deeply interested 
in the “other girl” and had both written to her inviting 
her to pay them a visit, Jim had really given them 
little information about Aileen. His mother and sister 
had not failed to notice the frequent letters in violet- 
tinted envelopes, and more than once they had re- 
marked that Jim’s long sittings at the big secretary 
were not wholly given to writing in his journal. 

“Did you say she is an adopted daughter. Son ?” Mrs. 
Thompson asked one evening when they were sitting 
around the fire, and Annie was teasing Jim to tell them 
more about Aileen. 

“Yes, Mother; why?” Jim answered. 

“And that she was adopted by Mrs. Henrietta Hall, 
who used to live in Richmond?” 

“Mrs. Hall told me she had lived in Richmond. Her 
people came originally from there, I believe, but 


THE DARK CORKER 143 

Aileen never said anything about it, that I recall,’’ said 
Jim. 

Mrs. Thompson knitted on thoughtfully. Jim leaned 
over and examined the piece of work in her lap. After 
a while she asked, 

“Do you know what her real name is?” 

Jim looked up at her in surprise. She continued 
quietly knitting as if awaiting a reply. 

“Why, Aileen Hall is her name,” he said. 

“Are you sure?” 

“Sure ? Why, yes’m, of course,” he answered readily, 
still puzzled at his mother’s manner. 

“Did you ever talk with her about this. Son?” she 
asked persistently. 

“About what? her name? Why, no’m. It wasn’t 
necessary, though. That is the name she has always 
gone by, and the only one I ever heard. Why do you 
ask such a queer question. Mother?” 

“Because,” said Mrs. Thompson, “you said she was 
adopted by Mrs. Hall, and that her own parents were 
dead.” 

“But,” said Jim, “her father was related to Mr. 
Hall, closely, I believe, though Aileen did not tell me 
exactly how. She never said very much about this.” 
He smiled, then, as he added, “We had much more 
important matters to talk about, you know.” 

But the strange look in Mrs. Thompson’s face in- 
creased and Jim became anxious. Annie left her place 
on the other side of the hearth and took a seat beside 
her mother. 

“Do you know where she was before she went to live 
with Mrs. Hall?” 

Jim waited thoughtfully before answering this ques- 
tion. What Aileen had told him about her early life 
had been so little and told so incidentally that it made 
scarcely any impression on his memory. He had really 
asked her nothing about it. | 

“I think she came from somewhere here in Wilson 
county,” he said at length, “but I am not sure. She 
must have been very small then. But why do you 
ask me in this tone. Mother?” 

Mrs. Thompson looked at her son, who was still 


144 THE DARK CORNER 

leaning over, playing with the work in her lap. His 
deep gray eyes were raised to hers and she smiled, 
thinking to drive away the trouble she saw coming 
into his face. She did not reply to his question. 

^‘Do you know anything about her?” he asked. 

She raised her hand and gently pushed back the hair 
from his temple. 

“Is my son going to marry a girl whose antecedents 
he knows absolutely nothing about, and whose very 
name he only supposes to be Aileen Hallf 

There was a little reproof in her tone, but there was 
also a little twinkle in her eye and she smiled, which 
showed Jim, if he did not know it already, that she did 
not consider that the essential thing. And Jim 
thought she was pleased, when, after he had flushed 
deeply, he replied with a certain mischievous twinkle 
in his own eye: 

“Well, Mother, you know IW not going to marry her 
antecedents, and her name doesnT really matter much, 
for that will soon be changed. As for where she came 
from, that does not worry me now half so much as 
where she is going to.” 

His mother smiled at this speech, but she resumed 
her serious manner. 

“Surely, though. Son, in all the conversation you 
had with her she must have told you something about 
her early life.” 

“I remember now,” he said after a while, “she once 
told me that all she remembered about the place she 
lived was a cool spring Just below the house, shaded 
by a big tree with spreading branches.” 

Mrs. Thompson suddenly stopped her knitting and 
looked pensively into the face of her son. He rocked on. 

“And, Son,” she said, “have you never seen such a 
spring as that, under such a tree?” 

Jim’s chair came suddenly to a standstill. He looked 
into his mother’s face. Gradually the pupils of his 
eyes began to dilate and the blood to leave his cheeks. 
Perspiration formed on his pallid brow. 

“What do you mean, Mother?” he exclaimed. 

“I think you see,” his mother answered quietly, still 
looking steadily and strangely into his eyes. 


THE DARK CORNER 145 

^^You donT mean — that — ^Aileen could be ” hie 

stopped, and his upper teeth clenched his lower lips 
as if to prevent them from further speech. 

^‘Yes, Son,” she said, as she reached over and put 
her arm on his shoulder, adding very slowly, ‘^Aileen. 
Hall is Aileen Gannon, and she is Amanda’s own sis- 
ter.” 

Jim’s face was buried in his mother’s lap, and till 
long after bed time she quietly stroked his hair with 
her gentle, loving fingers. 

“It is all right, my boy. I am glad you picked her 
out for her own sake, and for what she herself is.” 


CHAPTER XXII 

Two days afterwards Jim drove up to the door of 
Ole Man Bill Jordan. Amanda was the only one at 
home. Mr. and Mrs. Jordan, she said, were out in the 
woods “gittin’ light’ood.” She helped him take out 
the horse and put him into the crude log stable. Then 
they two went into the house. 

It was a chill day, and the house was dark because 
the board shutters were closed. Amanda put on an 
armful of lightwood, and a flaring, crackling fire rose 
up in the big fire-place, throwing a blaze of light 
throughout the room. By this Jim could see three or 
four plain splint-bottom chairs, a crude pine table on 
one side, and a bed on the other. That was all, except a 
little pile of cotton in one corner. There were great 
cracks in the floor, through which he could see the 
ground three or four feet beneath, and through which 
the cold air oozed. They sat down, Jim and Amanda, 
and remained silent. She did not talk; she had noth- 
ing to say. He could not. 

It all would have seemed so weird and picturesque 
to him had it not been so sadly real. She had resumed 
her plain checked homespun dress of one piece, with 
no collar, and her coarse shoes, white home-knit stock- 
ings rumpled into large creases showing above them. 


146 THE DAKK COKHER 

A coarse shawl was thrown about her shoulders and up 
around her neck. Her hair was disheveled, and the 
blank expression was on her sallow face. This was 
Aileen’s own sister. “Is it in truth possible V’ he asked 
himself. Looking closer at her, he could see the now 
unmistakable resemblance. He had resented the bare 
suggestion of this when Miss Anderson had noticed it 
the day Amanda went to Hollisville. Then his mind 
went further back to the little girl he used to play with 
in the yard long years ago, whose image he had car- 
ried in his heart up through his youth. He thought of 
it all, of the fight with Simon, of the bag of apples he 
had given her the day she left, the kiss on the scar, and 
how he had made the record for future generations and 
hidden it in the hollow tree in the woods. And ming- 
ling amid the shadows now he could see clearer and 
clearer the vision of the other girl with the long, yellow 
curls. 

All the while Amanda sat there silent before him. 
Once or twice she looked at him and smiled, a quaint, 
dull smile ; and he smiled at her ; but it made his heart 
sadder. 

That afternoon near nightfall Jim stood leaning 
against the fence of the cow lot watching Amanda as 
she milked the cow. They had begun to talk some. 
Ole Man Bill Jordan and Mrs. Jordan having returned 
to dissipate the strain and awkwardness of the situation 
by their simple kindly manners; and Jim was talking 
to Amanda about the desirability of her going off to 
school again. 

“Yas’r, I know mo’ ejjication ’ud do me good,” she 
said, “but I don’t see no use er gal ’ud have fer hit 
out here.” 

“But why should you 

He stopped. “Why should you remain here?” he had 
intended to say. But she had not spoken in a tone of 
complaint. Why should he stir up vain hopes and so 
inflict her contented soul with the curse of ambition 
and unrest? 

He looked around him upon a picture of simple life 
such as poets sing of; contentment and peace such as 
most men and women can only hope to have in heaven 


THE DAEK COKNEE 147 

— the rows of small sheds filled with corn and forage; 
the log house set up at the head of the grove of scrawny 
but not unpicturesque, not unbeautiful oaks; the zig- 
zag rail fences here and there; the chickens and ducks 
and geese running about the yard, Mrs. Jordan stand- 
ing in their midst feeding them, sometimes from her 
hand; Ole Man Bill Jordan, the very picture of happi- 
ness, feeding the pigs not far away; the ox reflectively 
chewing the cud; the old gray mule quietly drinking 
at the trough; the little speckled calf running bnck 
and forth sticking its head here and there through the 
cracks of the fence trying in vain to reach its mother’s 
teat. Amanda sat there on a block of wood milking 
the cow. Her brown hair hung in plaits down her 
back, her sleeves slightly tucked up, and there seemed 
something like a glow on her cheeks; perhaps it was 
the reflection from the illuminated western sky, which 
now was in a rich glow. The great ball of red fire was 
sinking down amidst banks of clouds, piled pillows of 
variegated colors; and it all seemed so near, just off 
the edge of the field near a cluster of tall pine trees, 
whose evergreen needles danced sparkling in the chan- 
ging hues. ^Ts not this life, too?” he thought. “Why 
should she leave it, why should she want to leave it?” 

“Look, Amy,” he said, pointing to the sunset. “Isn’t 
that perfectly beautiful ?” 

She had risen now ; she glanced once in the direction 
Jim was pointing. 

“ ’Tain’t nothin’ but the sun er settin’,” she said in a 
drawl, and with her pail of milk started towards the 
house, her eyes fixed on the ground. 

Jim stood leaning against the zig-zag rail fence 
wistfully watching her. As she passed him, her hair 
pulled back over her left temple, he saw the scar which 
connected her with little Amy of his dreams. She 
glanced up at him, and a dry smile played about her 
lips; looking closer, he again noted the resemblance to 
Aileen. She looked again at the ground and slowly 
moved on. The next moment he was walking at a 
brisk pace down the road alone, trying in vain to run 
away from the thought which fast pursued him. 

Is it possible to open her eyes to behold the beauties 


148 THE DARK CORNER 

of the sunset, without their seeing also the spectres in 
the night ? Can she appreciate the poetry of life, with- 
out experiencing its dread realities? Can she become 
acquainted with the people of a brighter and a fuller 
world, and read their books, without its setting up 
yearnings in her now contented soul after the impos- 
sible and the unknowable? Can she know joy without 
knowing also sorrow? Can she feel ecstasy without 
also pang ? Can love be hers without also hate ? These 
are old questions, but they are also eternal questions: 
^Tn the day that thou eatest of the tree of the knowl- 
edge of good and evil thou shalt surely die.” And they 
pressed mightily upon him, as he strode on before the 
fast falling night. “After all, perhaps she is right. She 
and Aileen — why should I consider that ? They are sis- 
ters by the far-off accident of birth; but did not Fate, 
inexorable Fate, decree that they should be separated 
into different worlds ? Did not God so intend it ? Shall 
I seek to undo the work of His hand, bring them to- 
gether into the same world; take Amy from this, and 
teach her pain, sorrow, disappointment, yearning after 
things she could never get, and, worst of all, envy of 
those who have them; thus, in seeking to give greater 
happiness destroy that which she already has? and 
Aileen, too, would she not be made miserable to have 
a sister who must foreyer bear the marks of the Dark 
Corner? and must Aileen know that she herself is 
rooted in this? Would it not be to make the last state 
of both of them worse than the first?” 

He continued to walk, and to think, till he had gone 
far down the road. When he returned, the sun had 
long set and the twilight had faded into a deep winter 
darkness, now thickened by clouds which arose and 
covered the stars. He could scarcely see the fences or 
the com sheds or the trees in the grove; the house was 
hidden from his view. And, as this deep darkness was 
settled down over the external world, a still deeper 
darkness settled over his spirit; and, as he had to grope 
his way through the black grove of trees, he was still 
groping in the blacker grove of doubt. Suddenly the 
door of the front room was opened, and he saw a blaze 
flare up from a pile of kindling on the hearth. And 


THE DARK CORNER 149 

with it, as suddenly, there came into his consciousness 
as a gleam from Heaven, lighting up the fires of his 
very soul, 

^‘Ignorance is a cure for nothing.” 


CHAPTER XXIII 

The smoke still curled from the mud- thatched chim- 
ney of the little log schoolhouse on the edge of Wash- 
more Swamp. But, though midwinter, the shutters 
were wide open, for glass window sashes had been put 
in; the sunlight streamed through and lit up the room 
and the faces of the children. The benches had all 
been provided with backs and the legs had been sawed 
off at various heights so that the feet of the smaller 
children could touch the floor. The spheroidal sys- 
tem of the science of ^^jography” as expatiated by Pro- 
fessor Bucephalus Brown and illustrated by the per- 
pendicularity of his finger had given place to the mak- 
ing of maps and globes in relief, and the animated 
discussion by the children and their teacher of the 
effects of the mountains, the winds, the seas, the val- 
leys, the streams upon the animal and vegetable life, 
upon the occupations of men and their social, com- 
mercial and political relations. The same children 
were there, but the distinguished professor had gone. 
In his place stood Mr. James Carlton Thompson, com- 
monly known as Jim, who was working heroically by 
day and by night, and with growing enthusiasm as he 
began to see some results. He was determined to let in 
at least a few rays of light into the Dark Corner. 

Mrs. Thompson and Annie were disappointed that 
Jim had declined the position offered him and had 
thus postponed the entrance upon his career as a law- 
yer. That he had given up the idea of being a lawyer 
at all he had not told them. The shock would have 
been quite too much, for they lived in the ever-glowing 
hope that he was to be a great man. There were three 
classes of men, ^‘business men,” doctors, and lawyers. 
A business man could be a good man, a doctor could be 


150 THE DAKK COENER 

a wise man, but only a lawyer could be a great man. 
When a man of good family who had acquired a col- 
lege education was fit for nothing else, but never other- 
wise, he sometimes became a teacher. That J im should 
teach except only as a temporary employment, to aid 
him to something better, was unthinkable. He knew 
this and decided to say nothing at present to his mother 
and Annie concerning his future plans. But Aileen 
he did tell. To her he wrote at great length, explain- 
ing, as well as he could and as well as he understood 
himself, how he felt towards the unfortunate Amanda 
and how he had now turned his eyes to behold the 
woeful plight of all the children of the Dark Corner. 
He opened up his heart to her and described to her 
after the most minute and elaborate fashion the Mace- 
donian call he heard and the happiness he felt in re- 
sponding to this call. But the one circumstance which 
had really impelled him to take this step he did not tell 
her. That he would not tell her till he had wrought a 
change in Amanda and lifted her from her lowly plane 
to one upon which her sister would not be humiliated to 
meet her. Meanwhile, he felt that Aileen’s love for 
him was so strong that she would trust him, and sym- 
pathize with him in this new work he had undertaken 
for the uplift of an unfortunate people. Of this he 
had no doubt at all, and in nearly every letter he ex- 
pressed his great satisfaction that she would some day 
join him, in person as she was now with him in spirit, 
in this “noblest of all human endeavors.” 

Aileen wrote nearly every day, and her letters were 
filled with expressions of the most fervent and passion- 
ate love. Over and over she expressed her unbounded 
confidence; and her admiration for him was beyond 
expression. But she never referred to any matters re- 
lating to Jim’s school work or his efforts and aims for 
Amanda; rarely did she refer to any other questions, 
problems, matters of human destiny or human duty; 
she just wrote “love letters.” And each one of them 
Jim pressed to his lips. But after a while, by slow 
degrees, he began to be dimly conscious of a little sense 
of void, very vague, and far away down in his soul at 
first, but growing day by day. One night, he sat long 


THE I)AEK CORNER 151 

looking into the fire. A letter from her had said, “I 
know you love me, dear, but I like to be told so over 
and over again, for Rm just a little girl, you know. 
I know you think this is silly; but I cannot help it, I 
love you so.” He had been saying “My Little Girl, I 
love you” in his letters a dozen times every day. 

Soon after that, in reply to a long letter telling her 
about his work and his growing interest in it, and ex- 
pressing the yearning that she were with him, he got 
a letter in which was no reference to his work except 
this, “I believe you are beginning to love your work 
more than you do me.” This she wrote again; and then 
again, till he replied: 

“Sweet Little Girl, I love you. Rut I do not under- 
stand you. In my own mind and heart, you and my 
work are so closely associated that whatever devotion I 
give to my work is but a way of expressing my devo- 
tion to you. 

“Now let me tell you something. Little Girl — for I 
love you: From the time I was a little child, I have 
prayed for just two things ; first, that God would direct 
me to that work in life for which He created me ; and, 
then, that I might be guided to the one He created to 
be a part of my life and help me do this work. And 
God has answered both of my prayers. He has given 
me the work and He has given me you. And these 
two, pointed out, as it has seemed to me, by the un- 
mistakable finger of God, have become in the very tex- 
tures of my soul, as one — one object, one aim, one 
thought, one love. And it all is the love of God. 

“So, my love, my whole heart is in my work. I have 
no hopes outside of it, no interests, and now I long 
only that we may be married so you may become a 
part of it in reality as you are already a part of it in 
my thoughts.” 

And Aileen answered as if her very heart were torn 
in two; 

“Your letter came this afternoon. I have read it 
several times. 


152 THE DAEK COENER 

“So you do love your work more than you do me. 
I was right. I have always loved you more than my 
work or anything else. In everything you have been 
uppermost in my thoughts. My love for you has filled 
my life with joyous happiness. But now your indiffer- 
ence has suddenly thrown a damper over it. After 
reading the letter before me, I feel as if I do not care 
for anything now. I never would have thought that 
you would let anything come before me in your heart. 

“Do not ask me not to be disappointed. I am more 
than disappointed. I would a thousand times rather 
you would destroy my life than take away the joy of 
my love. I am not unhappy; I am just blank, dazed; 
I am almost despising you, whom my whole soul loved. 

“Do not think I mean harsh things about you. I 
cannot forget all your sweet patience, unwavering de- 
votion, loving attention. Of late my love and admira- 
tion for you have been boundless. I was just waking 
up to a full appreciation of your strong character, 
your whole self; my heart was just loving as it should 
when you took away its joy and left me bewildered, 
stony-hearted. Oh, my darling, my darling, how could 
you? How could you have the heart to tell me what 
I so much dreaded — that you loved something else 
more than you did me ? 

“If you could see my heart to-night — if you love me 
at all, your anguish would be a great deal deeper than 
if you saw my lifeless form in a coffin, soon to be hid 
from your sight forever. What has made this change 
in you? Have not my letters proved my yearning 
love ? Or do I love you too much ? 

“You said in the first part of your letter that you 
loved me; and I believed it. But when I read the last, 
you might just as well have said that you hated me ; 
I should not feel any worse. 

“I would not have you love me above God, above 
principle. But to love your work to the neglect of your 
love for me! I cannot see that it has anything to do 
with your love for God. I do not believe you have al- 
ways done so, for I used to be first in your heart. 

“I would not send this to mar your happiness, if it 
were possible for me to write anything else except 


THE DARK CORNER 153 

what’s in my heart. When you have time, tell me all 
that is in your heart, if it kills me.” 

When Jim read this letter, tears came into his ej’^es. 
Then he took a long walk. He wrote a long time that 
night by a torchlight in the “settin’ room” after the 
others had gone to bed. But in the journal is just a 
line, and this has a pen mark through it: “What is 
a man to do with a woman like this ?” 

He plunged still deeper into his work. His heart 
was sore; he longed for that understanding sympathy 
which he felt Aileen alone was the one to give him, 
but which now he knew he did not have. He wrote to 
her as before; poured out his love to her in the most 
fervent and passionate language, telling her how she 
was wrapt up in his very life, and in his work which 
was the greatest part, in fact the whole of his life. 
“Now, my love,” he wrote her, “let us illustrate: Take 
this poor girl, Amanda, for instance.” Alas! what an 
unhappy illustration I “Somehow one of the things I 
seem put into this world for — I don’t know how; I don’t 
know why, but somehow — is to help uplift her from 
this deep night which has settled down on her once 
bright soul; and there are, in this community, in the 
Dark Corner here, many others like her, whom God 
has not intended to remain as they are; or, if so, then 
He surely does not intend that their children shall be 
as they. He put me here. You know not all the circum- 
stances which have forced me here; some day, I know 
not when, I know not if at all, but, I trust, some day 
you shall know all. But trust me, won’t you, that I 
know He it was who sent me here. And, convinced 
that this is the work ordained for me, I find pleasure 
and happiness in it, more than in anything else on 
earth. In saying this, of course, you are not in any 
way compared, for you and I are one. You, too, I sup- 
posed, loved this work, which I have considered ours 
jointly.” 

To this Aileen replied, 

“I do not understand you. You say you and I are 
one. Then how can you love anything more than you 


154 THE DAEK CORNER 

do me? Yet I dislike to write on this subject, fearing 
to make our sky, once so bright and happy, even more 
cloudy and dark than it is already — if that is possible. 
But I believe our first duty without any exception is 
toward each other. I do not think God asks us to sac- 
rifice our home, or neglect our own loved ones for the 
sake of others or for the sake of any work, however 
noble.” 

Jim, heartsore, tried to write to her without referring 
to that subject at all; but, as this necessitated his leav- 
ing out all reference to the thing in which his whole 
interest was being more and more absorbed, his efforts 
were not very successful. His letters dwindled in length 
from eight and ten pages to two and three, and now and 
then he would skip a day in writing to her. Still he 
wrote, and in every letter he tried to tell her how much 
his soul longed for her. But, quite naturally, as he 
half expected, she said: “Your letters do not satisfy 
me. Love. They are not like the ones you used to 
write. I do not like to complain; you are so good 
and patient with me ; but I have to write what is burn- 
ing my very heart out. Why do you not tell me if 
your love has changed?” 

And, not intending it as impatience but in jest, try- 
ing to rally her spirits and his own, Jim wrote one 
day : “I want you to pick out one of my former letters 
that you like particularly well, and send it to me. I 
want to have a whole lot like it printed and mail you 
one every day.” 

He got no more letters for ten days, not until after 
he had written a long letter from the very lowest 
depths of humility, explaining that it was only a jest. 

“That is what makes it so hard for me,” she wrote. 
“To think that you can jest with such a sacred matter! 
But then, as I am no longer first in your heart, there 
is no wonder. Oh, Love, Love ! Why will you provoke 
me to say such things when they cut my heart deeper 
and ten times more painfully than they can cut your 
own? I do not mean them; I love you. All I want is 
that you love me as you used to, and not say you love 
your work more than you do me.” 


THE DARK CORKER 155 

Jim sat down immediately and wrote her that he 
wanted her to send him back all the letters in which 
he had made any such foolish statement as that he 
loved his work or anything better than he did her, 
vowing that he loved her more than he did his work, or 
anything else human or divine. 

But listen — and the reader must excuse this: Jim 
lied. 

And this is not all. He knew it. She knew it. He 
knew she knew he knew it. Conscience-stricken for 
his insincerity, without waiting for a reply, two days 
after that he wrote her again; and, this time, he told 
her the bald, bold, brutal truth. 

‘T love you. Little Girl ; I hope you have evidence of 
it, and my love has not changed, or if it has it has 
been since you began to complain that I had changed. 
It is not right to declare that I will devote my whole 
life and soul to you. God put me here for some higher 
purpose than merely to live, to love and be loved. Yes, 
I love my work more than I do you, for with me my 
work is my God. That is my only conception of God, 
a light within a man which enables him to choose the 
work wherein he can best justify his existence in the 
world and a will to do this work with all his strength. 
This is not merely the spirit or will of God; it is God 
himself ; there is none other. My love for you has been 
not the mere physical pleasure of beholding you and 
being in your company, but the blending of our souls 
into one, — one purpose, one plan, one being, which 
would include you and me and the product of the unity 
of our souls, which is the consummation of our joint, 
unified purpose in life. Oh, I canT explain it; but if 
you and I are to be united, merely on the physical, 
brutal principle, ^They twain shall be one flesh,’ with- 
out reference to something which I must believe is 
higher, more spiritual — some purpose, plan, something 
more than just living together and loving each other 
as the beasts do — if that is all, I don’t want to marry 
you or anybody else. 

^‘Do you remember one Sunday afternoon, up beside 
the lake, I said there was no love unless it was re- 


156 THE DAKK COKNER 

quited? That same evening on the front steps you 
said to me, ‘In spite of what you say, I believe I un- 
derstand you/ I reached over and clasped your dear 
hand — one of the happiest moments in my whole life 
— and you must have felt my whole frame quiver as I 
said, ‘Little Girl, I believe for the time you have known 
me, you understand me better than anybody else I have 
ever known/ Do you remember that. Love? But you 
do not understand me. 

“My sweet Little Girl, I believe if I could tell you 
one thing you would understand me, and you 
would not blame me for doing as I am doing, nor for 
saying what I do say. I cannot tell you that now; it 
would give you pain.” 

Without a word, save the one word “Good-bye” on a 
tiny card inclosed, Jim received in a few days through 
the mail, registered, a little package; and he knew 
wdiat was in it before he opened it. In it was engraved, 
“Little Girl, I love you.” He put the ring on his finger, 
carefully packed some fifty or more letters into a box, 
took off the ring, read again “Little Girl, I love you,” 
and put it into the box. He covered up the box, tied it 
with a string, wrote on the top “Old Love Letters,” 
and put it carefully into the bottom of his trunk. Then 
abstractedly he took a book from the shelf, sat down in 
the splint-bottom chair, and began to read. He read a 
few pages and could not get interested. The book was 
“Spencer^s Synthetic Philosophy.” He stopped sud- 
denly, and the book fell into his lap. His mind flashed 
back through the years, and he smiled a faint, sad 
smile as he recalled the day when he was only ten 
years old he carried this same book, though not the 
same volume, down to the spring to read, the spring 
shaded by a big poplar tree with spreading branches. 
He got out the first volume of his journal, the old cast- 
away ledger, which he loved best of all the volumes, 
and read what he wrote that day little Amy left. He 
put this volume away, took his hat and started out to 
walk. As he reached the piazza, he saw Amanda stand- 
ing on the side of the road, dressed as he had seen her 
the first day she reached Hollisville. He heard her 


THE DARK COENER 157 

say, ain’t er gwine no whar.” She was talking to 
Tom Moore who stood grinning beside her. 

And Jim realized, far more than he did that day he 
had tried to read the Synthetic Philosophy beside the 
spring, that little Amy was indeed gone, — and that she 
was gone forever. 


CHAPTER XXIV 

The July sun beamed bright and hot upon the old 
dingy red brick court-house at Waxton, the county seat 
of Pee Dee. Sitting in the shade of the building near 
the entrance of the rickety, worn, filth-covered stairs 
in front, were half a dozen men, talking, whittling 
with big, greasy barlow knives, yawning, and smoking 
their cob pipes. Their chairs were tilted, leaning 
against the steps and the wall of the building. These 
were the county officers, engaged in their daily occu- 
pation. The big, fat, sleek-looking man, his face clean 
shaven, a slight tinge of gray in his hair, a big steel 
chain across the front of his abdomen and a brown hat 
resting on his knee, is the Clerk of the Court. He is 
the best paid county officer, and the most important 
and the most infiuential man in the county. It has 
never occurred to anybody to ask why he is paid more 
than the others. It always was that way. And nobody 
can give any adequate reason why every one who thinks 
of running for office in the county must always seek 
the advice of the Clerk of the Court, but it is so. 

Well, the Clerk performed that morning one of the 
chief duties and functions of his office; and those who 
were sitting there with him saw him do about as hard 
a piece of official work as he ever did during his long 
and honorable career. They could tell it was hard 
work, for the big man grunted, and yawned a particu- 
larly energetic yawn, as he performed this dutyj which 
was to tilt himself slightly to one side in his chair, 
reach down into his pocket, and get the court-house 
key to give to a little stooped-shouldered, scrawny man 
with one arm, who stood before him meekly and 
obeisantly as in the presence of majesty. Arduous as 


158 THE DAEK COKNER 

this was, the Clerk of Court had performed only half 
of his day’s work; near nightfall he would have to tilt 
himself to one side again and put the key back into his 
pocket. 

The stooped-shouldered man had red, bushy hair, and 
red, bushier whiskers, full of what on horses’ manes the 
negroes call “witch stirrups,” hairs knit together, or in 
this case pasted together, by dried tobacco juice, which 
was being constantly replenished from the oozing foun- 
tain at the corners of his distinguished mouth. This 
was the county Superintendent of Education. He 
could read — with difficulty; and he could write, with 
greater difficulty — ^greater still to the man who had to 
read it. Cook was his name. Matt Cook; and his chief 
qualification for the office of county Superintendent of 
Education was that he had one arm shot ofi in the war. 
Any man who had had two arms shot off in the war 
could have beat Matt Cook for the office. 

Having got the key, he climbed up the rickety, dirty 
stairs, opened the court-house door, and went in. A 
few minutes afterwards, the whittling party below 
stopped between puffs and strokes of their barlows long 
enough to stare at a tall young man and a blue-eyed, 
handsome girl dressed in a blue dress, who got out of a 
buggy and walked up the stairs. Both were strangers 
to the court-house group. Jim had brought Amanda 
to stand a competitive examination for a scholarship 
in the State Normal and Industrial School. 

“They ain’t nobody else come,” said Cook. “I been 
spectin’ to see Perfesser Tilson.” 

“Who?” exclaimed Jim, stopping suddenly; “Profes- 
sor Tilson? Is he going to bring some girls down?” 

“Not that I knows on,” said the county Superin- 
tendent. “But he’s one er the examiners.” 

Jim’s heart sank. It was no more cheering to learn 
that the other examiner was the Honorable Thomas 
Raymond Allen, of the Waxton bar. 

The court-house had rows of plain, straight benches 
from the door to about two-thirds of the way, where 
there was a crude railing stretched across the room. 
Beyond this railing were several tables, a hard-bottom, 
much bewhittled chair to each table, and a seat of 


THE DAKK COKNER 159 

justice high up above all. Under each table, and here 
and there about the place, were little boxes about a foot 
square and five or six inches high, filled with saw- 
dust. These were cuspidors, and now and then a quid 
of tobacco or a little dark coloring in the dirty saw- 
dust would indicate that somebody had accidentally 
spit into one of them instead of on the floor, which 
showed through two of the senses the accumulated ac- 
companiments of many years of Pee Dee justice. 

^‘There’s Perfesser Tilson,” exclaimed Cook, looking 
out of the window. 

Jim turned pale. Tilson was not alone. With him 
was Aileen Hall. It had been too short a time since 
their engagement was broken for them to meet without 
embarrassment. But there was no help, except to re- 
treat and he saw no possible way of doing that. 

The buggy drove up to one of the trees in the court- 
house yard and Jim watched Tilson help Aileen out. 
He saw an expression of fondness on her face as she 
rested her hands on his arms springing to the ground. 
And it sent a pain to his heart, which he would not ac- 
knowledge even to himself. “What care I he thought. 
“He is in the family.” 

“That air’s Miss Hall,” said Cook, breaking in on 
Jim’s thoughts. “She was up at his commencement. 
Some uv ’em up thar says he’s gwine ter marry her.” 

“What!” exclaimed Jim, turning almost savagely 
upon the county Superintendent. But in the next in- 
stant he realized his indiscretion and with a great 
effort calmed himself. Then he observed quietly: 

“Going to marry her, eh ? Good-looking girl. What 
did you say her name was ?” 

“Miss Hall,” answered Cook. 

“Kin to him, isn’t she?” said Jim. 

“I believe they say she ain’t no blood kin, but I don’t 
know exactly.” 

Just here Tilson entered the front door of the court- 
house alone. Aileen had gone to spend the day with 
one of her old pupils now married and living at Wax- 
ton. Tilson came pompously down the aisle, while 
Cook advanced to meet him, feeling himself highly 
honored in being allowed to shake two of the gloved 


160 THE HARK CORNER 

fingers of the great man. Jim took the hand which 
Tilson stretched out to him, but said no more than 
‘‘How are you to-day?” 

After a short while two or three girls came in one 
by one; and soon afterwards, a dozen or fifteen in a 
group, ranging in age from about twelve to twenty-five. 
With them was a tall man in a frock coat, once black 
but now brown and dingy, the edges of it much iraz- 
zled. The tall man had a sallow face ornamented with 
a black mustache, a red nose, and a large mole near his 
left eye. In his mouth was plainly discernible the in- 
evitable wad of tobacco. He led his procession of girls 
down the aisle and seated them at several tables as if 
he were quite accustomed to such procedures. With 
great dignity and ceremony he shook hands first with 
Tilson, with Cook, and Jim, then with Amanda, and 
the other girls. This done to his evident satisfaction, 
he stepped over to the wall and struck an attitude. 

Jim having secured as comfortable a seat for Amanda 
as possible and having seen the examination begun ac- 
cording to the prescribed conditions, strolled out into 
the body of the court-house and took a seat. In a short 
while he was joined by the tall man in the frock coat. 
This man interested him. He did not quite see the 
meaning of one man’s bringing so many girls to stand 
the examination. 

“Have you been coaching these young ladies?” he 
asked. 

“Which?” said the man, first spitting on the floor, 
then turning toward his questioner with a quizzical 
expression. 

“Have you been coaching them for the examina- 
tion ?” 

“Oh,” he answered. “I never heerd you good. No. 
We uns come over in a waggin.” 

“You don’t understand,” said Jim. “I mean have 
you been preparing them for this examination ?’’ 

“You mean git’n ’em ready to stand hit?” 

“Exactly,” said Jim, nodding. 

“Wal, not particular.” 

“Have they been going to school to you?” 

“Yas’r. This is the whole school, all the gals.” 


THE DARK CORNER 161 

^^And you have not been preparing them for this 
examination in partieular, you say 

“No, not particular. You see, this is they regular 
examination.” 

Jim did not see at all. On the contrary, he was more 
puzzled than ever. 

“How do you mean ?” he asked. 

“Wal, my school closes to-day, and I just bring ’em 
all down to stand the examination as a sort o’ wind 
up.” 

The appalling absurdity of this was several minutes 
getting into Jim. All the while the genius who had 
devised the plan of getting this special board to con- 
duct his examination for him was sitting with an ex- 
pression of great importance, waiting for some sign 
of admiration. 

“How long have you been teaching in this country ?” 
asked Jim. 

“Nigh on to fo’ years.” 

“What did you do before that?” 

“Who, me ?” He straightened himself up in his scat, 
pulled the frazzled ends of his long coat out from 
under him, throwing them around his knees, and looked 
greatly surprised at such a question. Jim showed no 
sign of better intelligence, however; and from all ap- 
pearances it seemed to the man that it was indeed him 
that had been meant; so he stood up, and holding out 
his hand in a patronizing manner, said, 

“Excuse me, sir, for not introducing myself. I am 
the Reverend Casey Johnson. What mout your name 
be?” 

“Ah!” exclaimed Jim, “I didn’t know you were a 
minister.” 

The Reverend looked at him in astonishment as if 
he would say, “Well, why didn’t you know it?” He got 
over his indignation, though, and in a short time he 
and his new acquaintance were having a friendly and 
confidential talk. One would have thought so, anyway, 
to have watched them, especially the way the Rev- 
erend poked his red nose into Jim’s face. 

“Have you always lived in this county?” Jim asked 
him. 


162 THE DAKK COKNER 

Again an injured look came into liis face and an 
injured tone into his voice. 

^‘Who, me?” he said. No, sir; such as he was not 
produced in a benighted country like that. 

“I come fum North Caliny,” he answered when he 
was convinced he was the one intended. A little later 
when he had gotten confidential again he put his nose 
close up to Jim’s face and said, 

“To tell you the truth, I never come down here to 
teach school. I jes drifted into that as a side issue.” 

“Did you have a church?” asked Jim. 

“No, never had no church neither. I’ll tell you 
how I happen to come. The Methodist folks over in 
North Caliny got me to come down here to com-batt 
the Mormons, and that’s why I ever come here.” 

Strict regulations for the examination were formu- 
lated at the Normal and Industrial School for the pur- 
pose of insuring fairness and perfect impartiality to 
all applicants, and so far as Jim could see the regula- 
tions were being carried out, but he was nevertheless 
uneasy. Besides, having no faith in the integrity of 
one of the members of the board, he knew that none of 
them were competent to pass on the papers. This was 
continually on his mind from the time he heard the 
names of the committee. Imagine then how well 
pleased he was when, while talking to the Mormon 
combatter, he overheard this remark Tilson made to 
the county Superintendent: “I have to go off this 
afternoon, and I have arranged with my secretary, 
Miss Hall, to take my place in examining the papers.” 
That put him at rest on one point. He knew she was 
competent to examine the papers and that she would 
do it fairly. But there was something in the way 
Tilson said, “My secretary. Miss Hall!” that sent a 
chill through him. 

As everything seemed to be going along all right, 
Jim and the Mormon combatter went downstairs and 
talked with the county officers in front of the court- 
house. Thus he got acquainted with the exponents of 
county government in the county of Pee Dee. There 
was one man he wished to call on while in Waxtoii, — 


THE BAKK CORKEH 163 

Mr. Allen, Senator from Pee Dee. With him he wished 
to discuss a scheme he had devised for the improve- 
ment of educational conditions in the county. The 
idea, in brief, was that a special tax should be levied 
upon the whole county for school purposes, and that in 
addition to the various district schools there should be 
one or more county high schools located at central 
points, with ample convenient arrangements for board 
at actual cost, and a corps of well equipped teachers. 
In the district schools the children should be advanced 
as far as the fifth or sixth grade, after which they 
should go to the county high school and be advanced 
through the eighth. Already he had talked it over with 
every intelligent man in the country he had met and 
he felt much encouraged. Now he wanted to discuss it 
with Senator Allen, for the plan contemplated the pas- 
sage by the legislature of a bill authorizing the people 
to vote on such a proposition. 

The Senator was in. His office was just to the rear 
of the court-house in a small two-room frame house 
with vines growing up around a little porch. 

“Well, sir,” he said, when Jim told him his idea, 
“thaPs a most excellent plan. It is an idea I resolved 
from the contemplation of human destiny and the con- 
centration of forces some years ago. The strongest and 
the longest plank in my platform is the education 
plank.” 

Then the Senator got up, hooked his thumbs into 
the armholes of his vest, spreading his fingers, raised 
himself on his toes, then on his heels, and continued 
for a while to rock himself thus back and forth as if 
trying to balance the thought in his mighty brain. 
Then he looked eloquently at the ceiling. 

“Education, sir,” he began in a sonorous voice, “is 
the palladium of our liberties and the grand pande- 
monium of American citizenship. It is, sir, the mighty 
wheel which rotates the huge engine of industrial de- 
marcation, and lifts poverty into the royal realms of 
luxury and transcendent efflorescence. Have a cigar. 
Professor.” 

He took from his pocket a cigar which he held out to 
Jim. Jim took it quietly. He did not smoke and had 


164 THE DARK CORNER 

no earthly use for the cigar; but, seeing that his host 
did not have another, he was afraid his refusal might 
cause him to stop and light it and so break the spell 
of this eloquence, which both were so much enjoying. 
His judgment proved sound. The Honorable Thomas 
Raymond Allen hooked his thumbs back into the arm- 
holes of his vest and resumed. 

“Yes, sir,” he said, “if it were not for education, 
America to-day would be in the condition of Europe 
in the dark ages when Peter the Hermit, alone in a 
wilderness of ignorance, tried to arouse his fellow citi- 
zens from their superstitious adherence to the doctrine 
of the Spanish Acquisition.” 

Another pause for this eloquence to take effect. Then 
he continued: 

“Alexander Hamilton, sir, conquered the known 
world. But where is Alexander Hamilton to-day? He 
lies on the lonely isle of Greece, and the howling ves- 
pers blow across his ancestral remains as they do over 
the cold shores of Labrador. And why? Because, sir, 
Alexander Hamilton fought with spear and rifle vol- 
ley. The weapons of Socrates, his great antithesis, 
were the school book and the printing press; and hal- 
lowed be his name.” 

In like manner the Senator from Pee Dee enter- 
tained his visitor for nearly an hour. Jim was very 
much interested in him ; so much so that he almost lost 
sight of the real object of his visit. After a while, 
when his eloquence had begun to get a little tedious, 
Jim began to question him upon personal matters. He 
inquired how long he had been in the Senate, how long 
he had practised law, where he received such a wonder- 
ful education, and so forth. To all of these the distin- 
guished Senator gave willing and profuse answers and 
interesting ones, couching them in most eloquent and 
impressive language. Jim was interested to know still 
further about so wonderful a man, and asked: 

“Are you related to the Allens of Maxwell County?” 

“No, sir; no, sir,” replied the Senator, straightening 
up. 

“I suppose, then,” said Jim, “your people are natives 
of this section, are they?” 


165 


THE DARK CORNER 

“Well, speaking comprehensively, yes” 

“Your forefathers were from Virginia, were they?” 

“Oh, no, indeed.” Here he reared back in his chair, 
took a long puff from his cigar, — Jim had given it back 
to him, — ^and observed with great dignity and undis- 
guised pride, “I always understood, sir, that my fore- 
fathers came over to this country about two hundred 
years ago with William the Conqueror.” 

“Oh!” exclaimed Jim. 

“Yes, aha!” — another big puff from the cigar — 
“Came over in the Mayflower — with William the Con- 
queror.” 

Jim felt he could contain himself little longer, so 
he got up to go. He asked Senator Allen in going if 
he would introduce the education bill in the Senate. 

“Education,” he began, “is the palladium of our lib- 
erties and the grand pandemonium ” 

“Well,” broke in Jim, “I want you to think about it, 
and we will take it up later.” He could not wait to 
hear that speech all over again, as much as he had 
enjoyed it. 


CHAPTER XXV 

Four months later a journal entry begins: “I have 
now mastered the three great principles which underlie 
the modern social structure, namely: that Business is 
Business, that Politics is Politics, and that Taxes is 
Hell.” 

Jim was in the midst of a campaign for the new 
school law, and he was learning that it is very much 
easier to get people to express themselves as favorable 
to an abstract proposition when there seems no possi- 
bility of its ever becoming a reality than when it is 
actually up for them to decide. Realizing from the 
first that it would be an uphill fight, he determined to 
devote himself for the two months preceding the elec- 
tion entirely to a campaign for the measure. Now the 
fateful day was fast approaching. The whole county 
had heard about it, and the whole county was stirred up 
as it had never been before on a school question, some 


166 THE DAEK COENER 

‘^fur if’ and some ‘^agin it.” Jim’s principal ally was 
a Mr. Weston, a well-to-do farmer and a public-spirited 
citizen who had formerly been a State Senator. They 
two had been all over the county, making speeches, 
and making friends for the measure; likewise making 
enemies for it. Generally Mr. Weston made the 
speeches; Jim just went along, always being invited at 
the end of the meeting to “make a few remarks on the 
situation,” as he always put it. And he never lost an op- 
portunity, never failed to make an opportunity to make 
to one man or a thousand these “few remarks on the sit- 
uation.” Sometimes he would make them on goods 
boxes at a country store, or from the steps of the post- 
office, from the steps of a schoolhouse, sitting upon a 
rail fence or standing around in the churchyard wait- 
ing for “church” to begin. Several times he was bold 
enough to make a “few remarks on the situation” at 
Sunday school after the regular exercises were over. 
This offended nobody’s sense of respect to the house of 
the Lord until the opposition began to get it abroad 
that Thompson was trying to “mix church and state.” 
Then Jim was threatened with excommunication or 
hanging or some other mild form of admonition. Often 
he would meet a man in the road and stop and talk 
to him as earnestly and as eloquently on the subject as 
if he were speaking to an audience of five hundred. 
The journal says: 

“I don’t know whether Mark Hopkins on one end of 
a log and Jim Garfield on the other constitutes a uni- 
versity or not; I have my doubts about it; but I do 
know that Mark Jones on one side of a mule and Jim 
Thompson on the other constitutes an educational 
meeting. And as a result of that meeting Mark is 
going to vote for the school law too.” 

There was strong opposition to the measure, based 
chiefly upon Jim’s third great principle underlying the 
social structure. Already the county was paying a tax 
of three mills on the dollar for the support of schools. 
This proposed law would put an additional tax of five 
mills, making the monstrous sum of eight-tenths of a 
cent out of every dollar of visible property a man had, 
to be given for the education of his children. “Think 


THE DARK CORNER 167 

of it,” the journal says, and we may assume that this 
is a sample of Jim’s few remarks on the situation, 
“eight cents out of every hundred dollars once a year! 
Why, it is almost as much as the average man’s tobacco 
costs him in a whole day. And he loves his children; 
oh, yes, he will allow them to spend the eight cents on 
something equally foolish. It is not for lack of filial 
affection or of a sense of duty to his children, you un- 
derstand. He’s just a fool, poor fellow; that’s all. 
Taxes is Hell.” 

Of course the Edyths, the Bessyes, the Mamyes, the 
Alaes, the Alyses, the Janyes, the Julyas, and the male 
element of Pee Dee society which admired these young 
ladies, were all heartily opposed to the measure because 
it was a reflection upon their “alma mater.” The Rev- 
erend Sam Hubbard was their chief spokesman. The 
Reverend Sam said that he could not see the logic of 
the advocates of the new measure. They proposed to 
establish a county high school when already they had 
such institutions as the Buckston Academy with two 
teachers, both graduates from the H. C. M. I., and that 
this institution could prepare students for the H. C. 
M. I., or any other college in one year’s time, whereas 
the high school proposed by Thompson would take two 
years to put them through the eighth grade, and then, 
after they had been five or six years to the district 
schools. He said that this was the opinion of nine- 
tenths of the graduates of the H. C. M. I., from which 
institution a diploma is recognized the world over. 

But Sam Hubbard was not the only “Reverend” Jim 
had against him. The Reverend Walter Enton was the 
special spokesman of the Almighty in this matter, and 
the Reverend Walter Enton sincerely believed that 
there really never was such a servant of the Lord born 
among men. Jim thought so, too. “Why should wo 
uns try to improve on natur?” said this good divine. 
“Ther Lord knows whut’s good fer His chillun, and 
don’t you reckin ef’n He wanted us ter be ejjicated. 
He’d er put us here ejjicated? Which one er you uns 
ever heerd tell er Jesus gwine ter school? 

“The highest callin’ in this here worl’,” continued this 
living ei^ample, ter preach ther gospel er ther Lord, 


168 THE DARK CORNER 

en ther Lord don^t never require no ejjication fer that. 
When He calls er man ter preach He don’t axe him no 
questions out’n books, an’ He don’t have no zamination 
papers. He jes says as He done ter Samuel, ^Samuel, 
come hither,’ and He specks er man whut He says that 
ter ter ’mediately go hither an’ perform ther services of 
ther Lord.” 

Do not suppose that the Reverend Walter was igno- 
rant of Scripture, though. He based his preaching al- 
together upon that Divine Word. And as further evi- 
dence that the Lord did not countenance this thing of 
men’s trying to improve on “natur,” he cited the cfise 
of the Twelve Apostles, whom he called “ther Lord’s 
Postuls” — ^pronouncing the “t” with especial emphasis. 
“Not one er ther Lord’s Postuls,” he said, “wus er 
ejjicated man, ’cept the Postul Paul, and all er you 
brethrens knows that ther Lord had to strike him down 
ter ther yearth with lightnin’ three times fo’ he wuz 
fit’n fer ter sarve ther Lord.” 

The Reverend Walter and the Reverend Sam after 
this fashion preached against the new educational 
measure in every church where they were given oppor- 
tunity. Jim, you know, who made “a few remarks on 
the situation” on several occasions at the close of Sun- 
day school, was criticised for trying to “mix church 
and state.” Jim was not a Reverend. The Lord had 
not stricken him down to the “yearth” with “lightnin’ ” 
like He had the “Postul Paul,” had not even called him 
to preach the gospel as He had the two “Reverends.” 

The negro question did not enter very largely into 
the campaign; Jim skillfully kept it out. There were 
comparatively few negroes in the county, and most of 
these were in and about the towns of Hollisville and 
Waxton. Still there were a few scattered about, just 
enough to give the demagogue an opportunity to shout 
the bugaboo of negro domination. Jim got his cue, 
though, from old man Syfan, who was his chief lieu- 
tenant up in the Sampson Creek settlement on the 
upper edge of the Dark Corner. Old man Syfan had 
no education himself ; he was illiterate, but he was not 
ignorant ; and he wanted his children educated and his 
neighbors’ children educated. One day he said to Jim, 


THE DARK CORNER 169 

^^You know whut aig^ment they use up in my settle- 
ment agin this hyuh thing?” He always emphasized 
the ment, 

“No; what is that?’' 

“Wal,” replied the old man, shifting his wad of to- 
bacco to the other side of his mouth, “they say if we 
gits this hyuh law some er the taxes whut the white 
man pays will go ter ejjicate the black man’s chillun.” 

“But,” began Jim, with impatience, “is that not the 
way now? You are taxed three mills on the dollar, 
and part of that goes to educate the black man’s chil- 
dren.” 

Old man Syfan listened with a knowing gleam in his 
eye. When Jim had finished, he again shifted his wad 
of tobacco. “But you know how I answers that air 
argymen^f"* he quietly said. 

“How do you do it?” asked Jim. 

“Don’t say nary word.” 

And Jim, right there on the spot, decided to adopt 
old man Syfan’s “argymen^^^ on that phase of the 
question for the rest of the campaign. 

Up to the very day of the election, Jim could not 
tell how it was going, and he had determined to fight it 
out to the end in any event. He got very discouraging 
news at times. Tilson had at first affected to laugh at 
the idea of this “visionary young upstart”; but it de- 
veloped that he was making a vigorous secret cam- 
paign against it, and that several men were in his 
employ who went about in the county among the people 
opposing it on any ground. The people of Hollisville, 
generally, were heartily opposing it, because Tilson had 
made them believe that anything which would injure 
the H. C. M. I. would inevitably injure the business 
interests of the town. By the same token, the people 
of Waxton, where it was proposed to establish the new 
high school or one of them, were in favor of it. The 
“business interests,” you understand, must always 
come first in these matters. Whenever there is talk 
of a schoolhouse, a bar-room, a library, a church, a 
Sunday law or other public institution or measure, 
the first thought at Hollisville and Waxton, as it is in 


170 THE DAKK CORNEE 

nine-tenths of the towns of these United States, ia 
how will it aifect ^‘the business interests” of the town. 

Ed Oldham, however, being as ever unalterably op- 
posed to anything and everything Tilson favored, and, 
vice versa, in favor of everything Tilson opposed, was 
a notable exception in Hollisville. He was for the law 
and he carried a number of Hollisville votes. Ed was 
about the only one in the whole town who had sufficient 
sense of humor to take in the real joke of Tilson. He 
replied to the argument that any injury to the “insti- 
tute” would injure the town. He said the argument 
was the same as the one advanced a few years before 
by the whiskey men, that if you took away the bar- 
rooms you would kill the town. “Now,” said he, “weVc 
taken away the bar-rooms from Hollisville. It ain^t 
dead yet. Must be that monkey show they’ve got up 
there takes the place of the bar-rooms.” 

The Waxton Gazette, the only newspaper in the 
county, was very much interested all during the cam- 
paign in the Open Door in China and the Progress of 
the British in India. The Gazette carried a ten-inch 
double column advertisement of the H. C. M. I. 

Ole Man Bill Jordan told Jim one day just prior to 
the election, “I talk hit up much ez I kin, en I’m 
gwine ter vote fer hit, en the Ole Oman says she wish 
she could vote herself, but I’m er liar ef’n hit don’t 
look ’s if Washmore Swamp’s gwi go gin hit. Tom 
Moore he’s ergin hit, en he’s been gwine erbout fightin’ 
hit terrible.” 

This grieved Jim. It was for the Washmore Swamp 
people that he had primarily come into Pee Dee, and 
they were closest to his heart in all his efforts. It was 
some humiliation, too, to learn that a young happy-go- 
lucky boy like Tom could have more weight there than 
he. He had not been there at all during the campaign, 
thinking those people would surely vote for his scheme. 
It was too late now; he could only wait till it was all 
over and go up there and see what was the matter. 

These are but a few of the corollaries and conditions 
under the general proposition that Business is Busi- 
ness, that Politics is Politics, and that Taxes is Hell, 
in which Jim found himself involved. The fundamen- 


THE DAEK CORNER 171 

tal fact remains untouched, namely, that he dared go 
into a campaign of this sort without consulting the 
most important and most influential man in the 
county, the Clerk of Court. This was, perhaps, after 
all, the fatal error. Matt Cook would lose his position 
by the new law because it contemplated having the 
principal of the central high school supervisor of all 
the schools in the county, and Matt Cook arraigned 
the Old Soldier vote against it. This could easily have 
been prevented had the big Clerk been consulted; for 
not only could he have controlled Matt Cook, but he 
could have voted the Old Soldier vote for the measure 
instead of against it. So people said, and of course 
what ‘‘people said” was so. 

In spite of all, however, Jim worked and hoped until 
the very last. On the day of the election, he went down 
to Waxton to watch the course of events and get the 
returns that night and the next day. 

Rut he returned that night. He had heard enough 
to know that the new school scheme was overwhelm- 
ingly defeated. 


CHAPTER XXVI 

The Hollisville Collegiate Military Institute, Pro- 
fessor Jefferson Marquinius Tilson President, had 
just closed the biggest commencemenl — with the ac- 
cent on the ment — in all history. It was just previous 
to the second election on the school proposition in Pee 
Dee two years after the first, and the biggest com- 
mencement, not only in the history of the H. C. M. I., 
but the biggest in the history of the world, was a part 
of the campaign against the visionary scheme of the 
“visionary youth.” It was not announced as a part of 
the campaign. Not at all. It had nothing whatever to 
do with it. It was just in the order of things, one of 
the natural, quite spontaneous manifestations of the 
wonderful growth of a wonderful institution under a 
wonderful man. 

It took place, I say, did this greatest commencement in 
the history of the world ; and for weeks and weeks, aye, 
and for months and months, it had been the talk, and 


172 THE HARK CORNER 

would continue to be the talk, of that whole section of 
the country, if not throughout the whole world. It was 
no ordinary occasion; it was a great occasion. In ad- 
dition to the grand ceremonies and ceremonials, 
baccalaureate sermons, annual addresses, graduating 
orations, salutatorians, valedictorians, presentations of 
diplomas, conferring of degrees, delivering of medals, 
songs, drills, charades, the performance of declama- 
tions, and so on, a prominent feature of the occasion 
was a grand reunion of the Alumni and Alumnae of 
the institution. These assembled, fired with loyalty 
and enthusiasm for their alma mater, beaming with 
pleasant memories and streaming with bright ribbons. 
They had a parade, they sang old songs, made speeches 
to one another, made love to one another. They had a 
banquet where they toasted and boasted, wined and 
dined and reuned after the manner glorious and sten- 
torious. The Reverend Doctor Samuelson Westmore- 
land Hubbard, D. D., was the toastmaster. The Hollis- 
ville Collegiate Military Institute had just conferred 
upon him the degree of Doctor of Divinity. Dr. 
Brown sat on his right. Dr. Bucephalus Brown, LL.D., 
quite felicitous, thank you. “In words of burning 
eloquence,” — that is the way it read in the newspaper 
account by “One of Those Present” — every speaker, 
some dozen or more, paid tributes to “the everlasting 
glory of our Alma Mater.” The Alumni and Alumnae 
formed an association, a perpetual association with 
constitutions and by-laws and committees and badges, 
aye and withal a yell, 

“Yi! Yil Yi! 

Come up high ! 

Alumni, Alumnae, 

H. C. M. I!” 

and there were all the other accessories, parapher- 
nalia, honorariums, functions and functionaries which 
such associations have. And a committee was ap- 
pointed, of six Alumni, to purchase a satin fiag, and 
another committee of six Alumnae to embroider on it 
the letters H. C. M. I. in a monogram of gold, the 


THE DARK CORNER m 

— ^^said flag” the resolution read — to be delivered 
to ‘^Our Alma Mater” at the next annual reunion of 
the association. An appropriation for the purposes 
of these comnjittees was duly voted. Another resolu- 
tion was passed carrying another appropriation, tho 
sum of ten dollars ^Trom funds now in the treasury 
of this association or from funds hereinafter to be in 
the treasury of this association,” for the purpose of 
purchasing a present to bear a suitable inscription 
under the words “To Our Honored President, Colonel 
Jefferson Marquinius Tilson.” Mark it, they were 
correct: Our Honored President is no longer “Pro- 
fessor,” he is “Colonel” Jefferson Marquinius Tilson, 
having been duly appointed to that rank by an order 
issued from the very headquarters of the H. C. M. I. 
The world moves on, you know: it does not stay in 
one place. The Alumni and Alumnae Association ap- 
pointed a committee to make a suitable selection of a 
present. Meeting in due form and ceremony, this 
committee selected a sword, and when their selection 
was reported to the association in convention as- 
sembled, sitting and waiting, through the Chairman of 
the Committee, Dr. Bucephalus Brown, LL.D., the 
announcement was greeted with deafening applause 
for the appropriateness of it. A rising vote of thanks 
was given the committee for its happy selection ; 
and it was unanimously and enthusiastically resolved, 
carried, and so ordered that the presentation speech 
should be made by that distinguished Alumnus, Dr. 
Bucephalus Brown, LL.D., which gentleman, in 
recognition of the honor, arose and said it was “quite 
felicitous.” 

All these were but features of the great occasion, 
minor, incidental features. The commencement itself 
was beyond, far beyond all possible description, all 
possible praise. Under the shadow of this, within the 
echo of it, within reach of it by newspaper write-ups, 
circulars, commemoration pamphlets, catalogues, and 
announcements, who will make himself so ridiculous 
as to mention such an insignificant, paltry, puny 
thing as a county high school! 

These things had been, I say. Now they were all 


174 THE DAEK COENER 

over, save tlie echo, which would last forever; and 
those who had come from a distance were going home. 
A number were about to leave on the afternoon train; 
in the cool of that late afternoon; it was in June, 
when, if ever, come hot days. Jim Thompson arrived 
in town from a dusty journey, put up his horse at 
the livery stable and walked down to the railroad 
station. He did not know of this crowd till he saw 
it, though he might have expected it, for, of course, 
he had heard of the greatest commencement in the 
history of the world. He was there, however, on quite 
another mission, to meet some one coming in on the 
train. It was Amanda Cannon, who had just finished 
her course at the State Normal and Industrial School, 
and was coming home now for good. 

Shall we pause just a moment to take a peep into 
the journal of those two years? We find many things; 
that is, many thoughts, many reflections on “Men, 
Things, and Women,’’ as he put it; though, generally 
speaking, what he wrote was in a serious vein. His 
view of life is enlarged, his interest in it deepened. 
He has had many experiences, minor ones, but they 
have enriched his life, and he has learned many things. 
He has read much and reflected. The journal says: 
“It is better to be alone than in good company. I 
have wasted so much precious time in my day in 
good company. Forced now to be alone a great deal 
of my time, for the first time in my lifo I am having 
an opportunity to read and to think.” As to his work : 
“Here I am playing still in the role of Hramp teacher,’ 
peddling my wares to people who do not want them. 
It is a pretty good article I am dealing in, I believe; 
but, as in every other line, the market is flooded with 
inferior and highly adulterated goods. In no line, 
perhaps, is there more adulteration, and adulteration 
of a more poisonous character, than in mine. Here is 
Tilson, for instance, offering an article not only vastly 
inferior but dangerous. It is cheaper, not costing less 
money, but less brain power, less will power, sacrifice, 
time. And, in proportion as this adulterated article 
is dangerous, it is made attractive. Taste for the 
spurious is easier developed than taste for the good. 


THE DAKK COKNER 175 

Oleomargarine and cotton seed oil butter artificially 
colored beyond the possibility of the finest and richest 
Jersey cow is thought better than real butter not so 
highly colored. Paste diamonds are more attractive 
to some people than real diamonds because they are 
larger. Stamped calico, made gayer than woven 
figures, sells easier, even at the same price.” 

Jim does not look a day older, however he feels. 
His step is sprightly; his dress is faultlessly neat 
and perfectly fitted to his manly, symmetrical form; 
he holds his head high; and his gray eyes still glisten 
and gleam; rich red blood courses vigorously through 
his veins. 

He had been to Hollisville only a few times since 
he had quit the school nearly three years before. 
He never went there without experiencing a certain 
sadness he tried in vain to disguise, and this now 
could be seen in his face. Because of his vigorous 
campaign for the school reform measure, in which ho 
had felt forced to aim some direct blows at the Hollis- 
ville school, he felt that he had made enemies in the 
town and among the ‘^Alumni and AlumnsB.” He 
sought, therefore, to avoid this crowd gathered at the 
station. But he soon saw it was impossible. Several 
of the old pupils recognized him. Some quickly turned 
their heads and began talking in low voices to their 
companions. Others spoke to him distinctly without 
coming near. As he stopped before the door of the 
waiting room, two girls and a boy of whom he had 
been particularly fond, came up to him and greeted 
him with great warmth and cordiality. He appre- 
ciated this and began asking them about themselves, 
and chatting with them in the most friendly manner. 
Then others, including those who had bowed coldly 
and those who had looked the other way, began 
gradually to close in upon him, till after a while he 
found himself holding a kind of reception. He told 
them whom he had come to meet, and several who 
remembered Amanda were greatly interested. They 
recalled several things in connection with her and the 
days when he and they were there together. 

^^Oh, Professor Thompson,” said one of the girls, 


176 THE DAKK COKNER 

*^have you heard of the wedding that is to take place 
at the opening of school next fall?” 

When one of the girls asked him this he felt a 
certain sinking at the heart, away below the surface, 
so deep, so far away, he was scarcely conscious of it; 
but it was there. He feared to ask. 

“Oh, yes,” said another. “It was told at the Alumni 
and Alumnae banquet the other night, and it has been 
the talk of the whole commencement ever since.” 

An inevitable something compelled him to ask, while 
his heart seemed to stop beating: 

“Who is it ? I haven’t heard a word of it.” 

“Professor Tilson and Miss Aileen,” several said in 
chorus. 

“Professor Thompson, iPs about time you are getting 
married, ain’t it?” 

A big good-natured boy had stuck his mischievous 
face over the shoulder of another boy and made this 
impertinent remark. A tender-hearted, sympathetic 
girl of nineteen frowned at the boy. Several others, 
turning away their heads so Jim could not see them, 
quietly laughed. 

Jim tried to keep a calm exterior, but he felt he 
was failing, for the blood in his face came and went. 
As soon as he noticed some of the group breaking 
away, he excused himself and stepped inside the wait- 
ing room, asked the ticket agent some trifling ques- 
tion, then slipped out of the rear door and started up 
the railroad track. 

Not since the day at Waxton when he heard Matt 
Cook say that she was engaged to Tilson had he seen 
Aileen Hall; not since that day had he heard any 
mention of this engagement. Many experiences, many 
thousands of thoughts had come into his mind since 
the day he bundled up her letters and put them with 
the ring which said “Little Girl, I love you” into the 
bottom of his trunk. Not once had he opened that 
box labeled “Old Love Letters.” He had not tried 
to make himself believe he had forgotten her. That 
his love for her was dead was all he had forced upon 
his mind, and he thought he had made that stick. 
But now he walked and reflected and raged till time 


THE DAEK CORNER 177 

for the train, when he returned to the station. The 
train was thirty minutes late. As he started out again, 
he stopped suddenly in the doorway. Aileen and Til- 
son stood just outside. Their backs were turned so 
they did not see him. Tilson suddenly left her, re- 
turning to the house. She turned and faced Jim. 
The color came quickly to both of their faces as in 
one instant their eyes met. In the next they were 
dropped. She smil^, very faintly, very sadly. Im- 
mediately he advanced and took her hand. Just then 
a dozen or more boys and girls came crowding around; 
the next moment she was completely surrounded, all 
the boys and girls chattering at once about a dozen 
different things, and some of them about nothing at 
all. Jim slipped away and resumed his walk and his 
reverie; but the rage had gone. 

Neither of them had uttered a word to the other. 

Aileen had ^own older, oh, ever so much older. 
The sparkling light from her blue eyes seemed dimmed, 
though softened, he thought. Her hair, though golden 
still, had not the same silken sheen. Her cheeks, 
though flushed when he saw them, were hollow. She 
was thin and wan. And there was no trace of the 
proud look. 

Amanda was the only passenger to get off at Hollis- 
ville. Jim, having returned just as the train rolled 
up, stood at the foot of the car steps. “That ain’t her,” 
one of the girls said. 

“What! That the Dark Corner girl who was here! 
Oh, no !” exclaimed another. Jim himself could hardly 
believe it; he had not seen her since she first left for 
the Normal and Industrial School. All the sallow look 
had gone; there was no blank stare as of old. Her 
cheeks were full and rosy, her big blue eyes had a 
sparkle in them; her silken brown hair was dressed 
in rich wavy folds, a neat and becoming hat set 
above it. She had on a simple dress, but fitted and 
draped about her graceful and symmetrical form with 
the dressmaker’s admirable art. She rested her hands 
upon Jim’s shoulders as he lifted her down to the 
ground. Then the crowd involuntarily parted to let 
her pass. 


178 THE DAKK CORNER 

Aileen was standing in the crowd ready to take the 
train. Tilson held her arm. Amanda and she met 
face to ;face. Jim recalled the last time the two 
sisters had met on this same spot. They still were 
■unknown to each other, but if they could have seen 
the striking resemblance as Jim saw it, he thought 
they might have guessed it. Though some things 
seemed to be reversed. Amanda’s face now was the one 
that had the bloom and the beauty. Aileen’s was 
pale and wan and lifeless. 

Aileen held out her hand. Amanda grasped it, 
hesitated, then leaned over and kissed Aileen, whose 
face flushed a deep scarlet; but Jim thought he saw 
there also a certain expression of great pleasure at 
Amanda’s act. Both he and Aileen remembered a con- 
versation they once had on the train. But it all was 
so quick. Aileen was in the rush. The next moment 
Tilson had lifted her to the platform and the train 
was moving away. 

That night Jim strolled about the town summon- 
ing recollections of things past. ‘^Students’ Manse” 
was just as it was when he left it. The three-story 
building with the colonnade, the fountain, the grass 
plots, the cannon and the flag pole in front, were still 
to be seen in the catalogues, and were numbered in 
the minds of students and visitors among the things 
that were going to be. The combination house, the 
short store room pushed up against the big barn-like 
structure, was still there without any change. He 
walked along the street on the opposite side. Neither 
Aileen nor Tilson was there, and he might have 
gone in, but he did not care to. A group of pupils 
were seated on the piazza talking and singing. He 
heard the sound of an auto-harp. Professor Walter 
was playing on one of his four instruments. As he 
walked on he heard the low melodious hum of a 
familiar voice, as a sauntering figure approached. 

“Simon, you black rascal you!” 

“Law de mussy, ef’n hit ain’t Mister Jim.” 

Jim took Simon’s rusty hand, and shook it warmly. 
Then he sat down on the edge of the side-walk, and 
leaned up against a tree. 


THE DAEK CORNER 179 

“Simon/’ he began in a slow and solemn drawl, 
“have you ever been addicted to the habit of delving 
into ancient history?” 

“Now dey you goes ! he ! he ! he ! hit’s de same Mister 
Jim sho nuff! he! he! he!” 

Jim made him sit down, though, which Simon was 
glad enough to do; and for more than an hour the 
two old friends delved into ancient history. 

After Jim had made him tell all about himself, 
about his marriage and a boy he had named “Mister 
Jim,” Simon told about “de school, de perfesser, en all 
de doin’s at de commencement.'’"' After a long pause 
in the conversation, Simon looked at Jim, with a sor- 
rowful expression. 

“Is you see Miss ’Leen, Mister Jim?” 

“Yes,” said Jim, “I saw her at the train.” 

“She ain lookin well,” said Simon. And then, after 
a pause, as Jim did not answer, he added, “Hit’s 
ben de same way wid er ever sence she come buck 
hyuh atter you en Miss Anderson done gone. Naws’r, 
she ain lookin well tall.” 

And Simon kept shaking his head sorrowfully. 

“What’s the matter with her, Simon?” asked Jim. 

“I dunno whut is de madder wid er. I specks, dough, 
she’s er bavin some trouble, suh.” 

“They say she and the Professor are going to be 
married very soon,” said Jim, leaning back in the 
shadow of the tree. 

“Who tells you dat. Mister Jim?” 

“Some of the boys and girls at the train.” 

“Wal,” said Simon, looking down at the ground 
reflectively, “I’s er hearin dat too; but I dunno, Mr. 
Jim. Lemme tell you whut I say de fust time I hear 
it. Hit was long time ergo I hear some er de niggers 
in de kitchen say hit, en I tells you de Gawd’s truth. 
Mister Jim, whut I say. De ve’y fust time I hears 
hit, I say, ‘Well, suh! Well, suh!’ Dat’s jes whut I 
say.” 

“Well, Simon,” observed Jim, smiling, “I knew you 
were a philosopher, but why did you make such a 
profound observation as that? Isn’t it true?” 


180 THE HARK CORNER 

“I keep on beam em say so. Mister Jim, but I tells 
you one udder thing. Hey ain mab’d yit.” 

“I understand they are to be married, tbougb, early 
in tbe fall when school opens,’^ said Jim. 

“Yas'r, I bears dat too. Mister Jim, but dey ain 
mab’d yit.” 

“Well, but Simon,” insisted Jim, “they are going 
to be.” 

Simon turned to him with an expression of some- 
thing like genuine disgust. 

“Now, Mister Jim,” he said reprovingly, “is you 
teach in dis hyuh school er whole tarm, en you ain 
never heerd er things whut is gwine ter be?” 

Jim did not know why, he vowed to himself it was 
not so, but it was so — his heart gave a bound and he 
felt like getting up and hugging Old Simon. 

He took out two silver dollars and handed them to 
him, saying that one was for little “Mister Jim,” and 
the other was a bridal present. Simon had been married 
over two years, so he gave an extra grin and again de- 
clared in delight that it was the same Mister Jim. 

“Naws’r, Mister Jim,” he repeated, as Jim started 
thoughtfully down the road towards the hotel. “You 
kin jest put hit down whut old Simon say, fer he 
keep his eye open; en he say ‘dey ain mah’d yit.’ 
Hat’s jes whut he say.” 


CHAPTER XXVII 

And now the next night let us look for a little 
while at Jim Thompson in the “settin’ room” at Ole 
Man Bill Jordan’s. The others have gone to bed. He 
sits looking out of the window at the dark outlines 
of the swamp not far away. His right hand covers 
his chin, his forefinger pressed against the side of his 
nose. Upon the page at which the book lies open in 
his lap is written in as yet undried ink : 

“Simon says ‘Hit’s in de blood’; and, although his 
premise is false. Old Simon still is a sound logician. 
His conclusion is accurafe. 'Hif isn’t in the blood, 


THE DAKK COENER 181 

but 'Hites' there. The Dark Corner has left a scar as 
ineradicable as the one made on her temple by the 
poker.” 

He had driven home with her that day. How differ- 
ent from that other drive with her on this road! 
How changed ! She talked fluently and naturally, 
telling about her school days, her friends, her teachers, 
the books she had read, her studies, and her exercises 
in the industrial branches. There is no more the 
sullen manner, no more the blank stare, no more the 
indifference to her surroundings. Her blue eyes, lus- 
trous now, appear as if they have been sharpened, for 
they seemed to penetrate his thoughts as he talked 
to her. There is a certain dignity and reserve about 
her, and she is a little cautious and hesitating in 
her speech, though not enough to be unnatural. She 
appears to fear lest she use a wrong word or make a 
mistake in her speech. Yet see what Jim has written 
in his journal. What is lacking? 

Alas! she does make mistakes in her speech, not 
many, and they are very little ones; but the scar 
on her temple, you know, is a very little one and 
frequently invisible. Now and then she says, seen 
him,” “I taken a lesson,” ‘T ain’t got no books like 
them others.” 

Once or twice, it is true, she had corrected herself, 
and Jim, looking into her face, had noticed that the 
blood rushed to her cheeks. Now he writes in his 
journal: 

^‘Yet there is cause for gratification. She may not 
have learned perfect speech. In two years she can- 
not have attained any marvelous store of book lore. 
The normal school cannot in that time have taught 
her how to teach, and I have some grave doubts about 
the industrial school’s having taught her any really 
wonderful things about how to sew or cook. But some- 
where and somehow she has learned to blush. That, I 
suppose, is worth her two years’ time, and all the time 
and attention I have given her. 

^‘That is, if she were not to live out here, where she 
was before.” 

Here he stopped again, and for more than an hour 


182 THE DAKK COEHER 

he sat looking out of the window at the dark swamp, 
his mind running back through the years, then trying 
to run forward into those to come. 

“And what now?’’ 

Jim kept asking himself this, and ever with it, 
much as he tried to push it back, came another and a 
more troublous question, “Shall I tell them now?” 
That ordeal he shrank fi;om; he would put it away 
from him altogether. 

When Jim first went to Washmore Swamp, he feared 
to give full rein to his hope, that he would redeem 
Amanda from the state into which she had fallen, 
then give the two sisters to each other. But what- 
ever altruism had enveloped him respecting the Dark 
Corner in general, it was this hope, planted deep in 
his inmost soul, which inspired him. Yet as from 
day to day he watched the girl and struggled with 
her, as he contemplated the conditions which had sur- 
rounded her, labored in vain to change these con- 
ditions, getting no sympathy from Aileen, and yet 
for Aileen’s own sake not telling her, it began to 
seem a hopeless task. He had hoped against hope. 
Since his estrangement from Aileen, he had tried 
not to think of bringing them together, tried to forget 
they were sisters. Then he was trying to forget 
Aileen herself, trying, too, to sink his interest in 
Amanda into his deepening and warming desire to 
work a change in the environment itself. Hopes, 
fears, doubts, light and darkness, had ebbed and flowed 
in him. Now he had seen the two sisters together; 
and memories and emotions crowded, burned within 
his soul. 

And Amanda had come home, come back to stay. She 
was a grown young woman, ready to find and follow 
her destiny. What was it? It was beyond his power 
to influence it further. He felt responsible for her, 
felt in some strange way that he had almost helped 
create her. And to what with his meager resources 
had he brought her? Here were the same unchanged 
surroundings, from which he had hoped to take her, 
which themselves he had hoped to change, still hoped 
to change; but, alas! they would not: this very com- 


THE DARK CORNER 183 

munity had voted against the measure intended espe- 
cially for its regeneration. Here still was the same 
atmosphere of ignorance, poverty, small life. Here, for 
her sole companion, was the Dark Corner man, as 
he had been from the beginning, steeped in his igno- 
rance, his poverty, his indifference to the world. Here, 
set among the pine trees, the swamps, and the savan- 
nahs, with the ghastly faces of boxed turpentine trees 
glaring at him; here still with his cornbread, his boiled 
greens, and fried pork, his ox-cart, lightwood torch, and 
his yellow dog, asking still of civilization that it go 
its way and let him alone. Here now — Ole Man Bill 
Jordan and his wife were on the front piazza bare- 
footed when they arrived — he had brought a girl who 
not only had seen and tasted a higher life, but who 
at his instigation and with his assistance had gone to 
train herself for another world. She could not go 
into that other world: there was no place for her to 
go, and she was not prepared to go. He would not, he 
could not, tell the sisters the secret he had carried in 
his own breast so long and thus thrust into the now 
happy life of each an ever enduring sorrow. 

As he had feared that evening he watched Amanda 
milking the cow, and heard her say, don’t see no 
good hit ’ud do me out here,” it came crowding upon 
his consciousness that he had only made matters worse. 
But again before he closed his eyes that night, even 
as on that same other evening a gleam came to him 
through the darkness, 

. .A whole I planned; 

Youth shows but half. 

Trust God, see all. 

Nor be afraid.” 

He arose from his bed next morning with a renewed 
determination that whether or not the scar could be 
erased from Amanda, and whatever now her destiny, 
his every power should be strained in the struggle be- 
fore him, to turn the light in upon the Dark Corner, 
and wipe it off the face of the earth, so that never- 
more forever should it stamp and stunt another human 
soul. 


m 


THE DAEK COKNER 


CHAPTER XXVIII 

As was usual with him after these wrestles with the 
spirit, in which he always triumphed, Jim was in a 
good humor when he started off the next morning early, 
on one of his expeditions to influence votes for the 
school reform measure. The air was fresh; it was 
the sweet air of an early June morning. The birds 
were dancing and chirping merrily among the dew- 
moistened leaves of the trees and the bushes along the 
road. The deep sand was cool, having had a night’s 
rest from the sun and its early morning bath with 
dew. The sun rose clear, but soon afterwards, peep- 
ing up through the thick timbers of the swamp, it hid 
its face again in some soft light clouds floating leis- 
urely in the east. Altogether a pleasant day and a 
pleasant drive was in prospect. He entered Washmore 
Swamp, where the frogs added a deep bass chorus to 
the soprano of the birds. Just as he crossed this, 
emerging in sight of the little log schoolhouse which 
had so many memories for him, he met two men walk- 
ing along in the sand with fishing poles across their 
shoulders. One of them was a round-faced youth 
slightly over twenty. Just a few tufts of red hair 
could be seen sticking out here and there from under 
the edges of a half-egg-shell shaped wool arrangement 
which covered his head and answered to the name of hat. 
The band had long since been discarded, and the brim 
was straightened out to an angle of one hundred and 
eighty degrees with the crown. Jim recognized 
Amanda’s friend Tom Moore. His companion was a 
sallow-faced, hollow-cheeked, long, lean fellow with a 
much betangled black beard, an old crony of Tom’s 
named Bob Saunders. 

“Stop thar !” exclaimed Tom, “I want ter see you er 
minute.” 

Jim reined in his horse. 

“Now, durn you!” said Tom in a threatening man- 
ner, “I ben er wantin’ ter git you fer two years er mo’. 
You ben out here long enough mussin’ with things 


THE DAKK COKNER 185 

whut ain’t none er yo’ business, en I want you ter git 
out’n that ar hifalutin kyart er yourn en let me mash 
yo’ dad busted nose fer you, which you ben stickin’ in 
tother folks’s business.” 

Both of the men came up close to the buggy, shaking 
their heads and their fists. Eor a moment Jim was 
completely dumbfounded; but, quickly recovering, he 
leaned back in his seat, knit his brows as if in per- 
plexity, then said in his droll drawl: 

“Well, now, that is a fair proposition, but it places 
me in a sort of predicament. You see, if I get out of 
this hifalutin kyart, I’m afraid my hifalutin horse 
might run away; but if one of you fellows will hold 
him, why. I’ll get out and let the other one try his 
hand on this — er — this” — ^here he stroked his nose in 
tender affection — “this dad busted nose of mine. Then 
after that, he can hold the horse and let the other fel- 
low have his turn.” 

Tom and Bob looked at each other in a curious, 
puzzled manner. 

“Hoi’ his dad busted ol’ boss fer him thar. Bob; 
he shan’t git out’n hit no sich way ez that,” said Tom. 

Bob stepped up in front of the horse and took hold, 
of the reins, all the time eyeing Jim, who slowly 
dropped the lines over the dash-board, took off his 
gloves, lifted the lap-robe from over his knees, all very 
deliberately; then, as deliberately, he got out on the 
opposite side from where Tom stood. He stroked his 
nose again affectionately, very much as a jockey pats 
his horse before a race. 

“Now, Bob,” he observed, “you’ll have to be on to 
your job. That’s a peculiar horse. He’s gentle enough 
ordinarily, but he’ll snort and cavort like forty when 
he smells blood. But hold on to him.” 

Then, sticking both his hands into his trousers pock- 
ets, he slowly sauntered around to where Tom stood, 
placed himself squarely in front of that belligerent but 
dumbfounded gentleman, and stood for a moment sil- 
ently looking him straight in the eye. 

“Well, Tom, old man, there’s the dad busted nose.” 

He spoke in his same slow drawl and he smiled, but 
there was a tone in his voice and an expression about 


I 


186 THE DAEK CORNEB 

his whole face which indicated that he meant business 
if Tom insisted on doing business. 

There was no fear in Tom. Jim was larger than 
he and stronger, but he was not thinking of this as 
he stood there and eyed the tall, strong, manly fellow 
with a half stern, half amused expression; he was sim- 
ply puzzled. His lips quivered slightly; he drew back 
to strike, suddenly hesitated, then dropping his hands, 
grinned, a sickly grin as if ashamed of himself. 

“Sit down here, Tom, on the side of the road,” said 
Jim kindly. “Let^s have a talk. I know why you don’t 
like me; and I don’t blame you, for I’ve done you a 
great wrong, and I want to apologize. You’re a good 
fellow, Tom, and I’ve always liked you.” 

Tom sat down: he was not grinning any more, 
though; he was sullen, and looked as if he already 
felt worsted. 

“Now, let us be plain,” said Jim, “for we are not 
children. We are men, and we can fight this thing 
out if we want to, mash each other’s dad busted noses 
and that sort of thing; but that would not help mat- 
ters. Now tell me, do you want to marry Amanda?” 

“None er yo’ dad busted business,” said Tom. 

Jim laughed. Tom began to get angry again. 

“Yes, I want to marry her,” he blurted out in his 
confusion, “that is how, I did want to marry her, but 
hit’s too late now, en you’s the cause er hit. You 
come ’roun’ here stickin yo’ dad — stickin yo’ nose into 
things whut ain’t none o’ yC’ business.” 

Jim quietly waited for Tom to get cool again before 
he spoke. Then, looking straight in front of him into 
the swamp, he said, solemnly, 

“Yes, Tom, I’m afraid it is too late, and that is 
why I say I have done you a great wrong. I’ve taken 
her away from you.” 

“Whut’s that?” exclaimed Tom, his face clouding 
as he rose up. ^Air you er wantin’ of her? That’s 
whut I ben er ’lowin’ en that’s why I want ter mash 
yo’ dad ” 

“Sit down, Tom,” said Jim, smiling, “you are not 
going to mash anybody’s dad busted nose until I get 
through. No, I don’t want her myself, even if I could get 


THE DARK CORNER 187 

her, and I don’t think I conld. There is another ” 

He stopped and, though Tom did not notice it, a 
shadow flitted over his face. In a moment he con- 
tinued, “Amanda once lived in my home, and I have 
tried to treat her as my own sister. I have done you 
a wrong,^ though, by getting her to study and improve 
herself till she is far ahead of you.” 

“Yeh,” said Tom, “you sent her up thar ter the city 
whar she got er lot o’ hifalutin notions in her head.” 

Jim laughed; and in spite of Tom’s efforts to look 
angry, a smile flitted, too, across his good-natured 
face. 

“No, Tom,” said Jim, “she has no hifalutin notions 
in her head. She has more good common sense than 
you think she has. But she is a superior girl. And 
she has been associating with educated and well-to-do 
people, who haven’t a bit more sense than you have but 
who do more with their sense. They build nice-looking 
and comfortable houses, wear better clothes, have nicer 
things on the table to eat, and ” 

“Yes,” interrupted Tom, “but they got the money to 
git all them things, an hit’s all dad busted foolishness 
fer er gal whut 

“Now, there’s Mr. Arnold Weston, down there near 
Waxton,” went on Jim, “he hasn’t really any more 
sense than you have, and look what he has and how 
he lives. Amanda stayed down there with the Westons, 
you remember, for six or eight months, and she saw 
how much better he had things than some of the 
people up here.” 

“But I tell yer he got the money to git them things.” 

“Of course,” went on Jim without noticing the in- 
terruption, “it would be rather a hard thing for 
Amanda to have to put up all her life with what a 
man in this neighborhood has, especially after she has 
been down there and lived in a home like Mr. Weston’s, 
And, you know, he never had a thing when he came 
down here, and he was several years older than you 
are now. But he now gives his wife and daughters 
good clothes to wear and sewing machines to make 
them on. They have a cooking stove, and one of his 
daughters like Amanda has gone off to the industrial 


188 THE DAKK: COKNER 

school where she has learned how to cook nice things. 
They have pictures on the walls, and one room has a 
carpet in it. They don^t ride around in an^ ox-cart 
either, or a wagon with a mule hitched to it; they 
have a hifalutin kyart like mine there, and a hifalutin 
horse, that snorts when he smells blood. And yet Mr. 
Weston ” 

‘^But it takes money ter git them things,” again 
insisted Tom. 

“Why, Mr. Weston^s wife hasn’t had to work in the 
field a single day since she has been married, yet she 
keeps busy all the time. She knows how to keep a 
nice and comfortable house for her husband and make 
him happy while he is in the house, just as happy, or I 
suppose, far happier even than he is when he goes fish- 
ing.” Here he glanced at Tom’s fishing rod. “You see, 
Amanda stayed there with these people and she has 
been up at Glendale where she has seen other people 
doing the same way.” Jim paused and looked silently 
at the fishing pole. 

“Wal, then, why can’t a fellow git them things fer 
her here?” asked Tom at length. Jim began again 
without appearing to notice Tom at all. 

“Mr. Weston, now,” he said, picking up Tom’s home- 
made but ingenious and fantastic fishing pole, “I’ll bet 
he never had such a hifalutin fishing pole as this in 
his life. The fact is, I doubt very much whether he 
could fix up one like this. What sense he has got he 
has been putting into his farm. I saw him picking 
strawberries the other day. He told me he made this 
year, on one acre of strawberries, three hundred and 
fifty dollars, clear money. He studied how to make his 
land bring him in the most money, and that is the way 
he has been able to get all these hifalutin things. He 
has all sorts of garden truck down there in his place, 
and he gets a good profit on all of them.” 

Jim stopped again and watched Tom scratch his 
head. Bob, assured that unless the horse smelt blood 
he was perfectly gentle, came up and leaned against a 
tree. 

“Bob,” said Tom, after a while, “let’s me’n you plant 
some strawberries.” 


THE DARK CORNER 189 

“But where I have done you the greatest wrong, 
Tom,” Jim resumed, “is by getting Amanda so inter- 
ested in books and pictures and magazines and news- 
papers and other things which educated people think 
about and talk about that you are not now her equal 
as you used to be, and you could not be entertaining 
to her. You see, where she has been for the past two 
years a man sits down at the table and at night be- 
fore the fire or out in the piazza and talks with his 
wife about things that are going on in the world, 
what people outside of the immediate community are 
doing, and what they are thinking about. They read 
books, magazines, and newspapers together and talk 
about them. But a man would have to have some edu- 
cation, at least as much as Amanda has, in order to do 
this, you know.” 

“Wal, I kin git yo dad busted ejjication,” observed 
Tom. 

Still Jim paid no attention, but went on in the same 
vein for some time, telling him about men who learned 
after they were grown, and of how a man could get so 
much happiness and pleasure and make himself so 
much more congenial to an educated girl by reading 
books and newspapers, which cost so little, and so forth. 
But, after a while, he gradually led back to Mr. Ar- 
nold Weston, his success and the kind of home he 
had. He told, too, what he had heard Mr. Weston 
say about the soil in this part of the country, that it 
would produce almost anything and that if a man 
would just put his brain into his work and diversify 
his crops he could make a fortune. He named several 
young men in the lower part of the county who were 
doing it; but he never once suggested that it was 
possible for Tom to do it. He talked rather as if this 
were altogether out of the question; and, all througli, 
he continued to beg Tom’s pardon for having put 
Amanda far out of his reach. 

Then, after nearly an hour, he got up, shook hands 
with Tom and with Bob, got back into his buggy and 
drove on. Tom and Bob stood silently watching the 
buggy till it was out of sight. 

“He must think I’m er dad busted fool,” said Tom 


190 THE DAKK COENER 

to Bob. “Bd like ter know why I can’t do like them 
fellows he’s talkin erbout. I’ll show him yit. Diirn 
him !” 


CHAPTER XXIX 

Jim and Mr. Weston, as before, went down the night 
after the election to hear the returns. They stayed 
late into the night; and, after the last box that any 
one could expect that night had come in, it was so 
close they could not tell how it would go. Every- 
where were indications of a much heavier vote than 
in the election two years before, and great excitement 
prevailed throughout the whole county. They went 
home and returned the next day. More boxes had been 
heard from, but the result was still uncertain. Excite- 
ment ran high in Waxton, where a large number of 
people from all parts of the county had gathered to 
hear the returns. A crowd stood around the court- 
house steps, where the votes were being received and 
tabulated by the big fat Clerk of Court and the editor 
of the Waxton Gazette. The editor did the tabulating; 
the clerk contributed the wisdom. The Honorable 
Thomas Raymond Allen stood on the outskirts of the 
crowd telling those from the country, who considered 
themselves complimented by so great a man’s con- 
descending to talk to them, that education was the 
palladium of our liberties and the grand pandemonium 
of our American civilization. The Reverend Casey 
Johnson, the Mormon Combatter, was there mingling 
with the crowd, going up very close to each man who 
, said anything, sticking his nose up into his face and 
ejaculating “which?” Professor Jefferson Marquinius 
Tilson was there with a countenance which alternately 
beamed and frowned; with him, some of the same 
tobacco juice in his whiskers we saw there over two 
years ago, was Matt Cook, the county Superintendent 
of Education. Dr. Bucephalus Brown, LL.D., and the 
Reverend Doctor Samuelson Westmoreland Hubbard, 
D.D., with their long- tailed coats frazzled at the ends 
of the tails but buttoned at the top, were anxious to 
know how it was going to turn out. Every announce- 


THE DAKK COKNER 191 

ment would bring forth an appropriate remark from 
each to the distinguished President of their Alma 
Mater. Several others from Hollisville were there, 
among them Ed Oldham and Old Man Peg-leg Wood- 
ward, who were heartily and vociferously for the new 
law. 

By nightfall all boxes had been heard from except the 
Washmore Swamp box, and the vote stood in the county : 
1827 For, and 1835 Against the law. In the last elec- 
tion Washmore Swamp went: 14 For, and 38 Against. 
At the announcement there was great cheering from 
the opposition, led by the Reverend Dr. Samuelson 
Plubbard, D.D., who declared that the “fool business” 
had been buried a second time and he reckoned it would 
not come up again; to which Dr. Bucephalus Brown, 
LL.D., assented and assured Col. J. M. T. that it was 
“quite felicitous.” The Mormon Combatter looked 
glum, and the big Clerk, as he made the announcement, 
smiled with an “I-told-you-so” expression. But the 
matter was not settled yet, although Jim and Mr. 
Weston conceded the defeat and went to supper at 
the hotel. 

Soon after supper a slowly plodding gray mule 
hitched to a wobbly wheeled wagon passed the hotel 
going down the street. In about fifteen minutes a 
tremendous cheering came from the direction of the 
court-house. Those at the hotel immediately started 
down, the cheering growing as they advanced. When 
Jim came in sight this cheering became suddenly sev- 
eral times as loud; and four or five men, led by Ed 
Oldham, and Tom Moore who had brought the returns 
in from Washmore Swamp, rushed up to him, lifted 
him up to their shoulders, and carried him through 
the crowd to the court-house steps, where they set 
him down and demanded a speech. 

“But I don’t know the result,” declared Jim. ^“What 
is the vote ?” 

The Honorable Thomas Raymond Allen took the 
piece of paper from the Clerk’s reluctant hands and 
read impressively: “1873 For, and 1841 Against/’ 

Again the crowd yelled. The Colonel with the dis- 
tinguished Alumni of the H.C.M.I. had already with- 


192 THE DAEK CORNER 

drawn to a considerable distance across the street, and 
were preparing to leave for home. 

^‘Speech! Speech!” called the crowd. 

will only make a few remarks upon the situa- 
tion,” began Jim. He was drowned by tremendous 
cheering as the crowd recognized his pet phrase. But 
he would not do more than to add that the victory 
was due to the intelligence of the people. 

“Weston! Weston!” the crowd shouted as Jim came 
down. 

Mr. Weston ascended two or three of the court-house 
steps. 

“I thank you, gentlemen, and I congratulate you,” 
he said. “I have made all of my speeches. The next 
thing we’ve got to do is to work and make the thing 
a practical success.” Then he descended and mingled 
with the crowd. 

“Allen! Allen!” then shouted several in the crowd. 

The Honorable Thomas Raymond Allen walked up 
about fifteen steps of the fiight, pulled down his vest, 
cleared his throat, raised his mighty arm and stretched 
it eloquently across the sky. Then he began in thun- 
derous tones: 

“Fel-lo-o-ow Cit-i-zens ! !” 

He stopped, cleared his throat, and pulled down his 
vest, giving the crowd a chance to cheer. His arm 
again swept across the sky, spell-binding the vast as- 
semblage — ^there were now something like fifty in the 
crowd. Then he launched forth on these mighty 
pinions to such ethereal heights as to put thunder-peals 
to blush: 

“Education is the palladium of our liberties and the 
grand pandemonium of our American civilization. 
Rome that sat upon her Seven Hills in its pristine 
power and glory moved resplendent among the hier- 
archical nations of the earth, because of its incalculable 
foresight in putting mind before matter, and instructed 
the youth of its imperial commonwealth in the realms 
of thought. Athens that glistened in the limelight 
of the aurora borealis upon the Isles of Greece, be- 
cause of its adherence to the principles and policies of 
education, looms up after these eighty centuries tall 


THE DARK CORNER 193 

towering and transcendant in the sheen of intellectual 
polity. When the mighty Demosthenes with thunder- 
ing and transfixing eloquence exclaimed ^Carthage de- 
lirium est/ it was there, thence, and forever demon- 
strated, perpetrated, and perpetuated that the pen, the 
symbolization of education, is mightier than the sword, 
which is the symbolization of destruction. The am- 
phibiousness of man ” 

The rest is silence. That is, it is a great clamor. 
With furious barking, yelping, biting, scratching, roll- 
ing, tumbling in the street about thirty feet away, a 
dog fight broke out; and even the mighty eloquence of 
so “transfixing” an orator as the Honorable Thomas 
Raymond Allen of the Waxton Bar cannot anywhere 
compete with a first class, highly organized dog fight. 
And this one was highly organized, for Ed Oldham had 
organized it for the specific purpose of competition. 
And the dog fight won. 

Three weeks afterwards, Jim was in the mountains 
for rest and recuperation. While there, he got a letter 
from Mr. Arnold Weston, the chairman of the newly 
appointed county school board, asking him to become 
principal of the county high school and supervisor of 
the district schools, at a salary of $2,000 a year. He 
wrote immediately, accepting the position. In his let- 
ter of acceptance he said; 

“People will say that my purpose has been selfish, 
that all I have been fighting for, these past three years 
or more, has been this position, a berth for myself. 
Well, it’s so. I want the position; I have wanted it 
from the beginning. To be perfectly frank, that, in a 
large measure, is what I have been driving at. I can 
perform the duties better than anybody I know. So I 
have no apologies to make for accepting the position 
which you are good enough to offer me, and accepting 
it forthwith, without reluctance and without any re- 
marks to the effect that I do it ffor the good of the 
people at great personal sacrifice.’ There is no sacrifice 
about it, no obligation to you for offering it to me, no 
obligation to me for ^consenting’ to take it; it’s a good 
job, and I’m a good man for it. 


194 THE DAKK COKNER 

‘‘As to being criticised and misunderstood I am quite 
used to that now, having had a good deal of it in 
the past, with quite a goodly store of it yet coming 
to me. 

“Now one more plain remark. I want to be at the 
head of this school system in Pee Dee because I want 
the thing organized according to my ideas; and, while 
I do not pretend to know everything, donT pretend to 
have more sense than all the board or than any of the 
board, I know a blazing sight more about this business 
than the whole crowd, and I want to run it, using the 
board only for cussin’ purposes when something goes 
wrong and I haven’t time to conduct a row. 

“The salary you offer me is an unheard-of one in 
Pee Dee for a school teacher. The Clerk of Court is 
bound to kick because it is almost as much as he gets, 
and the sheriff will want the Job. But it isn’t too much, 
not more than Pm worth, and I don’t want to hear 
anything about your paying me a magnificent or a 
‘pow’ful’ big salary. If you were to cut it in half I 
would take the Job, though; because I want the Job 
more than I want the money. Cutting the salary 
wouldn’t hurt me; it would hurt the position. It is 
more than I need for myself, but it is not more than 
I need in order to do my work like it ought to be done. 
I shall be able with that amount to keep myself in 
good physical and mental condition, and in vacations 
to equip myself better to do the work.” 

This letter had not reached the bottom of the train 
mail box into which he dropped it before Jim was 
sorry he had written it and wanted to recall it. 

“I should not be surprised, nor misused,” he said 
to himself, “should the school board reverse its action 
and elect another man.” 

The board did nothing of the kind, however. Mr. 
Weston laughed. Some did not like it, declaring it 
was the very embodiment of egotism and conceit. But, 
upon second consideration, they agreed that most com- 
petent men felt about the same way; only they were 
not so frank as Jim. 


THE DAKK CORNER 


195 


CHAPTER XXX 

The days go by, and the years. Gradually is the light 
turned on in the Dark Corner. Gradually is mind 
waked up, and with it the soil. The truck growing 
industry has assumed large proportions and large im- 
portance, making the county rich. But it is the school 
system which has made Pee Dee famous. The sequence 
may have been accidental, but material prosperity close- 
ly followed the establishment of this system, and the 
people believe that the one was caused by the other. So 
that the school system is the chief pride of Pee Dee; 
and in course of time the school house has become 
in each community a centre of social and intellectual 
interest. 

There are three county high schools: one at Waxton, 
one at Hollisville, in a handsome new brick building 
on the site formerly occupied by the Hollisville Col- 
legiate Military Institute, Professor Jefferson Mar- 
quinius Tilson President; and the third is situated in 
a grove of graceful pines, which you can see just as 
you emerge from the Washmore Swamp. Each one of 
these high schools is in the centre of a School Division. 
The high school principals are also supervisors of the 
district schools in the respective divisions. The 
district schools are in charge of teachers, each of whom 
after being graduated from college has taught two 
years in one of the high schools, as an apprenticeship 
before being entrusted with the more delicate work 
of teaching the children of more tender age and under 
more difficult conditions. Every teacher in the county 
reports on Saturday at the high school of his division 
to confer with the supervisor about the work, and these 
apprentice teachers are present at this conference. The 
General Superintendent makes it a rule to be present at 
one of these conferences every Saturday, thus going 
the rounds, conferring with every teacher in the county 
every three weeks. He goes often around among the 
district schools during the week days, not to “visit the 
schools” nor to “inspect the schools” but to do some- 


m THE DAKK COKNER 

thing specific which he knows about and has talked 
with the teachers about before he goes there. Most 
of these district schools have from three to five teach- 
ers in them. They are about ten miles apart, so that 
as a rule no child has to come more than five miles 
to school. This is but a short distance, for the roads 
are good and the long covered wagons with their genial 
trusty drivers come by every morning and gather up 
the children. The people are proud of their new hard 
roads, made by digging down and bringing up the clay 
to mix with the sand. The General Superintendent 
says, with a merry gleam in his gray eyes, that the 
roads are a part of the school system, for they followed 
fast upon the installation of the covered school wagons. 
Besides, the roads are used by the General Superin- 
tendent more than almost any one else; and the one 
next proudest of them is the Superintendent’s driver. 
This driver is a favorite with the teachers and the 
pupils all over the county. They call him ^‘Ole 
Simon.” He and his master, as they travel together, 
sometimes discuss the doctrine of the Transmigration 
of the Soul. 

There are no ^^professors’’ in the schools. In the 
journal of the General Superintendent is written “I 
don’t tune pianos, or go up in a balloon, or train 
ponies, or make tintype photographs, or travel through 
the country with a tuning fork teaching singing school : 
so I see no reason why I should be called professor.” 

The Hollisville Collegiate Military Institute, Pro- 
fessor (afterwards Colonel) Jefferson Marquinius Til- 
son President, no longer issues catalogues announcing 
what is going to be. The» chief reminders in Pee Dee 
of this historic institution are the few remaining di- 
plomas framed and hung upon the walls, inscribed in 
much becurled and betailed penmanship with such 
names as Alys and Mamye and Matylda. 

There is no Professor Jefferson Marquinius Tilson, 
neither Colonel. 

Hot long since, a party of Pee Dee people in their 
travels stopped in one of the small towns of the West. 
Here they saw a man whose face, figure, and bearing 
reminded them of earlier days in Pee Dee. He was 


THE BAKK COENER 19Y 

standing on the rear end of a fantastically decoratetl 
two-horse spring wagon. He wore a long tail coat, with 
a high silk hat. A tremendous gold chain was stretched 
across his front, and from the sleek bosom of his snowy 
white shirt there sparkled and glittered a huge stone, 
which the large crowd surrounding his wagon on the 
street corner took for a diamond. He was making 
demonstrations upon the numerous long sufferers from 
sundry ailments, who presented themselves, and dis- 
coursing upon the marvellous properties of his Uni- 
versal Remedy, guaranteed to cure colds, coughs, con- 
sumption, catarrh, chronic headaches, bunions, bron- 
chitis, Bright’s disease, lacerated sore throat, periton- 
itis, sore eyes, in-growing toe-nails, and a number of 
other diseases, all for $1.25 a bottle, being the special 
preparation of the celebrated Friend of the Afflicted, 
Doctor Jefferson Marquinius Tilson. With him was 
a tall, dark-haired, black-eyed woman, who energetical- 
ly passed out the bottles and took in the money. This, 
the Pee Dee people learned, was his wife. 

The Reverend Samuelson Westmoreland Hubbard, 
D.D., is no more, but Sam Hubbard has a job at one 
dollar a day cutting timber in Washmore Swamp for 
Tom Moore. I will tell you about Tom. 

Moore and Saunder’s Truck Farm is the largest and 
most successful in that whole part of the country. They 
ship large quantities of strawberries, lettuce, asparagus, 
celery, cauliflower, and other vegetables. In connection 
with the farm, which is situated on the upper border 
of Washmore Swamp, they have a plant for making 
their own crates, getting the timber from the swamp. 
Tom is considered the most expert truck man in the 
county. His farm being situated near the Washmore 
Swamp High School, as a regular part of the instruc- 
tion in horticulture, the pupils are sent to visit it. 
And that isn’t all about Tom. There has been a wed- 
ding at Ole Man Bill Jordan’s. Jim Thompson was 
best man. 

It was two months after the wedding, one day in 
early June, Jim got a telephone message that Mrs. 
Moore was very ill. He did not wait for the confer- 
ence of teachers to close, but as soon as Simon could 


198 THE DARK CORNER 

hitch up, he started at full speed. She had been sick 
for several weeks with a raging fever, and now the 
crisis was approaching. Tom was going frantically 
from room to room wringing his hands and running 
his fingers through his hair. Jim called the doctor 
aside and asked him to tell him exactly what he 
thought of Amanda^s condition. 

“The end will come within three days,” said the 
doctor. 

Jim went to his room, wrote a telegram, and a note, 
and called Simon. 

“Simon,” he said, “take this telegram to Hollisville ; 
hitch Mr. Tom^s two horses to his carriage, and make 
them go as fast as they will travel. Give this telegram 
to the operator.” 

“Now, listen,” went on Jim. “You know Miss 
Aileen Hall T 

“Yas’r, I knows her fer sho.” 

“She will be down on the train to-morrow afternoon. 
Give her this note.” 

“Dis here ain’t ter her, is it?” asked Simon. 

“Yes,” answered Jim, “certainly. Meet her at the 
train and give it to her at once. Do you understand ?” 

Simon made no reply, but all of a sudden a mys- 
terious look came over his dusky features. He tucked 
the note under his vest and buttoned up his coat to his 
chin, though the perspiration was rolling down his face. 

“When she is ready,” added Jim, “hurry her here. 
Do not wait for anything. Have your horses fed and 
watered and hitched up to the carriage.” 

The distance from Washmore Swamp to Hollisville 
had been reduced by fully one haK by the improve- 
ment of the road. Instead of having to plow through 
heavy sand, there was a smooth firm road-bed all the 
way; Tom’s two horses were fieet of foot; and Simon 
was thoroughly alive to his responsibilities. 

In the middle of the following night, Aileen entered 
the neat two-story cottage set off in the grove of pines. 
Jim met her at the front door, and led her silently 
into the sitting room. 

“This morning she got a little better, but late this 
afternoon she began to get worse. The doctor gave 


' THE DARK CORNER 199 

her some morphine. Since that time she has been 
asleep. God knows if she will ever wake again.” 

Saying this he sat down on a sofa, buried his face 
in his hands, and began to weep violently. Aileen, 
her face very pale, a dazed blank expression in it, stood 
in the middle of the floor. Jim, recovering himself, 
arose and begged her to sit down. 

Tom came into the room, wringing his hands. Jim 
had told him the secret that afternoon. She shook 
hands with Tom, but showed no sign of emotion, little 
sign of life at dl. She just looked dazed and stood 
there. Neither she nor Tom said a word to each other. 
The doctor came in shortly afterwards and said that 
Amanda was still asleep and that her pulse was steadily 
growing weaker. Tom sat down and burst out crying. 
Still Aileen stood and looked on. She would not sit 
down, till Jim took her by the hand and led her to a 
chair. They all sat then, scarcely uttering a word 
till near dawn, when the nurse who had been watching 
at the bedside came in and called the doctor out. 

I Tom followed; then Aileen for the first time burst out 
crying. 

“My sister ! My sister ! Can^t you let me go to her 
now ? You have kept me away from her all these years. 
Now that she is dying, aren’t you going to let me speak 
to her, just speak to her once and ask her forgiveness ?” 

Jim could make no reply. Every bitter word sank 
into his heart. In a short while she grew a little 
calmer, but she kept her face buried in a sofa pillow. 
The doctor came back and said that Amanda had 
waked up, and that she seemed a little better, but 
nobody must go to her except the nurse. Then Aileen 
began to cry as if her heart were breaking. Jim sat 
helplessly by. They heard Amanda groan in the next 
room. 

“O why can’t her own sister, who is closer to her 
than anybody else, go to her?” Aileen kept wailing, 
bowing up and down, her face buried in the pillow on 
the sofa. The sun had risen now, up over the green 
leaves of the cypress and juniper trees of Washmore 
Swamp ; the light peeped through the red shades of the 
windows, and the birds began to sing in all the trees 


m THE BAKE CORNER 

around the house. Aileen again seemed to grow calm. 
She raised her head and looked aroimd the room. See- 
ing no one present save her and Jim alone, he sitting 
beside her on the sofa, looking piteously at her, she 
began again, now looking straight at him with an ex- 
pression which sent an agony to his heart. 

"'You have done it! You have kept her from me all 
these years! My own sister! Why have you done it? 
You must have some good reason, but why? And now 
you only send for me when she is dying? Why? 

Whyr 

He could only look at her ; but not being able to meet 
her terrible gaze, his eyes fell away. The next moment, 
the door opened, and Mr. and Mrs. Jordan entered the 
room. Mr. Jordan had off his coat, and one gallus 
hung over his coarse white shirt. He wore no collar. 
His trousers touched his bare legs above his ankles. 
Mrs. Jordan had on the one-piece homespun dress 
slightly drawn at the waist, and her gray locks were 
hanging shaggily about her head. Both she and Mr. 
Jordan were barefooted. Jim slowly turned his head 
toward them; then looked at Aileen. He did not utter 
a word, but in answer to her repeated “Why,” he seemed 
to say, “That is the reason.” 

Aileen sprang to her feet, threw her arms around 
Mrs. Jordan and kissed her several times. Then she 
did the same to Mr. Jordan, astonishing them both be- 
yond measure. 

“My own Grandmother and Grandfather!” she ex- 
claimed. “Don’t you know me? I am Aileen, your 
granddaughter.” 

Still they looked their consternation. Aileen turned 
in appeal to Jim. 

“She is Amanda’s sister,” he said, “the other girl you 
once asked me about. I did not know then.” And he 
bowed his head. 

“But for many years he has known,” began Aileen, 

“^d why, why ” She stopped and kissed them each 

again. 

It was as much as the two old people could do to 
take in the fact that Aileen really was the “t’other 
gal” for them to enter with her then into speculations 


1 , 


THE HAEK CORNER 


201 


[ as to why the secret had been kept from them. But after 
a while they did grasp it. For the next few days they 
[ would scarcely let her out of their sight. They just 
sat and gazed at her. 

Amanda grew better. Her fever left her and she be- 
gan to get stronger, though very slowly. They were 
afraid to excite her, so that for three days more no 
one saw her save the doctor and the nurse, and Tom 
once or twice a day. On the fourth day, though, the 
doctor said that Aileen could go in to see her, but that 
she must not be identified as her sister. When she 
went into the room Amanda’s face lit up as with a 
bright light. She was almost too weak to speak, but 
she said faintly, hoped they would send for you. 
Why have you not been in before? Stoop down and 
kiss me.” 

Aileen was greatly surprised that Amanda should 
think of her at all, but she was pleased. She could 
not talk to her, though, except to say some soothing 
words. The doctor said she must not be made to re- 
member or think of anything. Aileen stroked her 
head a few minutes, kissed her again and left the 
room. This she did once or twice a day for several 
days, the time being increased as Amanda steadily 
grew stronger. Then she took her place as nurse. 

Jim had to return to his work, but he came in every 
few days. Tom resumed the work on his farm. 

In a week Amanda was sitting up, and the next week 
she was able to be dressed and carried out on the 
piazza. Here it was, late one afternoon, that Jim, 
who had come in to spend the night, having consulted 
the doctor, decided to tell Amanda the secret, which 
had had such a powerful infiuence upon her life and 
his. She sat half reclining in a large rocking chair 
propped up with pillows, but she was now recovering 
and the bloom was coming back into her thinned and 
bleached cheeks. 

Aileen sat on one side of her, and Tom, close to her 
on the other side, held her hand. Jim almost choked 
with emotion as he began to tell the story. Amanda 
just looked. As he went on something came into her 
face that resembled the old stare. She showed no sign 


m THE BARK CORNER 

of astonishment or of great emotion, and Aileen’s heart 
experienced a sensation of pain, for she took the 
strange manner for indifference. Amanda did not speak 
a word until after Jim had finished his story. Then 
she and Aileen folded each other in their arms. 

“Will you be honest if I ask you a question?’^ 
Amanda asked. 

“Of course, my sister,’’ answered Aileen. 

“Are you glad?” 

Aileen threw her arms around Amanda and fell upon 
her bosom, weeping. 

“Oh, my sister!” she said, “won’t you forgive me 
now, after so many years?” 

Amanda only held her tighter in her arms. 

“There’s nothing to forgive,” she answered at length, 
slowly. “I only want to know before I tell you some- 
thing, because I am so different from you and you 
have lived in such a different world from mine.” 

“But you have been so much better than I have 
been,” said Aileen, “and” — here her eyes involuntarily 
glanced around at Jim, who did not see it — “you have 
done so much more good in the world.” 

“No,” said Amanda; and they were both silent a long 
time, Jim and Tom, silent too, looking on. 

“Are you much surprised?” Jim asked after a while. 

“Must I tell you, Aileen?” she asked turning to her 
sister, “what I said I had to tell?” 

“Yes.” 

Amanda looked from one to the other in silence for 
a long time. Then she fixed her eyes on the towering 
tops of the pine trees across the field and said, slowly, 
without apparent emotion, 

“I have known this for six years. Mrs. Thompson 
told me that first summer I went to see her.” 

And Jim remembered that night she cut her arm 
on the plank in the swamp and kept it from him till, 
led by the gleam of light through the thick gloom, 
they reached the little hut of Wister Harper, a haven 
of rest and shelter from the darkness and cold. 

After supper that night, Jim took a long walk alone. 
When he returned he found Aileen sitting on the 


THE DAEK COENER 203 

porch. The moon was shining bright. He had not 
talked with her alone at all. He had not had the 
opportunity. Besides, he feared to embarrass her. At 
supper she had been quiet; and he guessed that she 
was thinking of the other revelation, that Amanda 
had kept this secret six years, that she knew that day 
she kissed her at the railroad station at Hollisville, 
and all these years still she herself was not allowed 
to know. Jim guessed right. It was this that made 
Aileen quiet. It was what he, too, was thinking of; 
and now, still out on the porch, he imagined Aileen 
wanted to be alone. Fearing to intrude, he started 
in, only speaking formally, as he got on the porch. 
But as he put his hand on the knob, he did not turn it ; 
he stepped back and looked up at the moon. 

“IFs a beautiful night,” he said, ^^isn’t it?” 

^^Beautiful,” she replied, looking toward him and 
smiling sadly. 

He walked over to where she was sitting and sat cn 
the railing near her, but he did not speak. She did 
not speak, and both of them looked steadily out into 
the night. Finally she raised her eyes and looked at 
him. 

^‘Why have you kept this secret from me?” 

^^Do you not know ?” he replied. 

She did not answer. Her eyes fell away, and he 
thought he saw by the moonlight which beamed upon 
her face that she had been weeping. He sat silently 
watching her. She got up to go in, turning her face 
away, as if avoiding his gaze. He followed her to the 
door. As her hand struck the knob she paused, just 
as he had done. He gently took her hand. She made 
a faint effort to withdraw it, but he held it firm, and 
drew her back to the railing. Though she tried to 
hide it, he now clearly saw a tear trickling down her 
cheek. 

^^Little Girl, I love you. Don^t you know it ?” 

She did not answer, but looked once into his face; 
then her eyes fell away. He gently put his hand upon 
the back of her soft hair, still golden, still silken, and 
she hid her face on his shoulder. 

^^Don’t you know it?” he whispered. 


204 THE DAKK COENER 

And he felt her head, very slightly, faintly, bobbing 
against his shoulder. 

“Won’t you be my Little Girl always ?” he asked. 

“No, Jim,” she said, “it is not a little girl you want, 
but a woman, with a woman’s mind able to grasp the 
high purpose of your life, and a woman’s soul to be a 
part of it. I loved so to be called ^Little Girl,’ but oh, 
how selfish and small I was !” 

“But how selfish I was,” said Jim, “to want you to 
leave the world and come out here !” 

“And do you call that narrow sphere in which I have 
lived ‘the world’? When I think of these long years I 
might have been helping you ” 

She sobbed on his shoulder. 

“But don’t think of it, my darling. Tell me only that 
we are to be together now for always.” 

Gently she raised her face, looked into his eyes, 
and 

The shadow of a man approached from around the 
corner of the porch. It was Simon, and he was look- 
ing straight at the moon for symptoms of snow. But 
as he passed on into the shadows a distinct chuckle 
could be heard echoing through the branches of the 
pine trees. 


CHAPTER XXXI 

Two children are playing by the well, in the midst 
of a grove of scrawny oaks. One is a boy of twelve, 
with light brown hair almost red, a handsome and 
manly little fellow; he speaks with a half drawl; he is 
a bright boy, though, and full of mischief, a gleam 
in his big brown eyes. His name is Jim Thompson 
Moore: none of your hifalutin James’s now, his father 
says; his name is “Jim.” And he’s the “dadbustedest 
fool” about his little cousin that you ever saw. This 
little cousin is a few years younger than he. She has 
bright blue eyes and rich golden hair, which sparkles 
in the autumn sun as she runs about the lawn. Her 
name is Amy Hall Thompson. Ole Man Bill Jordan, 
leaning against the fence, gazing at them through his 


THE DARK COKNER 205 

fast dimming eyes over the rims of his spectacles, ex- 
presses the opinion that his veracity is utterly unre- 
i liable “ef^n them ain’t er ’mazin’ pair er brats.” And 
he intimates in case you distrust the accuracy of his 
judgment, that ^^the 01’ Oman’ll tell you the sarnie 
thing.” A genial negro man plays with the children. 
They call him “Ole Simon,” but he is no older than 
he was when he played in the yard with the little 
boy’s mother and the little girl’s father. 

Down at the lower edge of the grove are two women, 
simply dressed but neatly and tastily. They are sis- 
ters, sitting in a hammock, with their arms around 
each other. One of them is reading aloud from a book 
in her lap. On the grass at their feet, leaning against 
a tree, is a red-headed man who listens, rather im- 
patiently. The book is the Arabian Nights. 

“I don’t believe half of that,” says the man. 

The women look at each other and laugh. 

“Why, Tom, nobody expects you to believe it. This 
woman was making it up as she went along to enter- 
tain the King her husband. If she failed to make it 
so interesting that he would want more the next night, 
he would cut her head off.” 

“Well, he ought to cut her head off for being such 
a dadbusted big liar.” 

In the front room of the house sits a man who, if 
you look at him now, you would say was nearing fifty; 
if you had seen him an hour ago at the dinner table 
where he sat talking and joking until all the others 
1 had finished, when he had to eat his dinner alone, you 
j would have said he was not quite thirty. But now he 

; sits looking out of the window at the children at play, 

and at the group at the lower end of the grove, ^ his 
chin resting in his hand, his forefinger pressed against 
I the side of his nose. In the record book lying ^ open 

; on the table beside him, the ink scarcely dry, is written : 

! “ ’Tis Sunday afternoon of an October day. It 

! seems the very same day I have seen, and felt, and 
I lived — or have been or am — ^many times before. ^ On 
! such days, most often, returning instants in Time’s 
j Cycle stop before the startled soul.” 

Simon draws a bucket of water for the children. 


206 THE DAEK COKNER 

Before any of them drink, he brings a large gourd 
full to the window. He has to speak twice before 
the man inside, looking out of the window at him, 
seems to hear him, or to see him. At length this man 
takes the gourd, drinks, and hands it back. He looks 
into the negro’s genial, dusky face with a curious 
expression. 

“There are more things in heaven and earth, Simon, 
than are dreamt of in your philosophy,” he observes 
solemnly. 

Simon grins, but his master’s face is stern and seri- 
ous. He pours the water out of the gourd and observes 
as solemnly: 

“Yas’r, I specks so. Sub.” 

He goes back to play with the children. 

And Time’s Cycle moves on. 


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